


You've Got New York and I've Got You

by sheps



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Forehead Kisses, Getting Together, M/M, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark Coparenting Peter Parker, Michelle Jones Is a Good Bro, Mutual Pining, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Slow Burn, Tony Stark Lives, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, lots and lots of kisses actually, the entire story is fueled on softness, y'all this is so not the angst train
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:52:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27134837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheps/pseuds/sheps
Summary: Living with Harley meant falling for every little thing that made him Harley.And Peter did - hook, line, and sinker.Which was why he had to be imagining this. He was letting his feelings for Harley bleed into his thoughts and make him think this was happening when it wasn’t.Because Harley was absolutely most definitely not kissing Peter’s forehead whenever he fell asleep.Except maybe he was.___Peter had always been aware of his feelings for Harley. He was not, however, aware of Harley's feelings for him. Harley was determined to change that; Peter just wanted a nap.
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker, Harley Keener/Peter Parker
Comments: 77
Kudos: 590
Collections: Bi Bi Bi. (And everything else), Potato boi and Spooderman, Tiny Stank is Spiderboi's dad, marvel





	You've Got New York and I've Got You

**Author's Note:**

> When I started writing this, it was supposed to be a short little thing just for myself so the idea would leave me alone. Somewhere along the way, it became 22.5k words of these boys being absolutely soft for each other and something I was so proud of that I decided I wanted to share it despite how nervous that makes me. Hey Marvel fandom it's me ya boi who is just as soft as these boys what's good. 
> 
> Based off that one Reddit post about the two dudes just being guys kissing each other goodnight. The post has since been deleted, but if I ever see a repost of it, I'll be sure to come back and link it. 
> 
> I was also obsessed with the song "Stupid For You" by Waterparks while I wrote 90% of this so do with that information what you will. 
> 
> Dedicated to May. Your endless support and heart emojis while I wrote this is so appreciated. Thank you for being my Parkner person, I love you.

Between being a sophomore college student, one of Tony Stark’s proteges, and Spider-Man, Peter had mastered the art of power napping. 

He’d always struggled to sleep at night. If he wasn’t out late on patrol, he was up late doing homework. If nightmares weren’t keeping him up, general restlessness was. It felt like the only nights Peter actually slept well were the ones where his alarm was set for seven the next morning. He envied Harley, who could pass out the second his head hit the pillow if he really wanted to. 

So Peter had learned to make the most of every minute of sleep he could get. Some days, that twenty minute nap between his morning and afternoon classes was all the sleep Peter got. He never fell asleep during lecture on purpose, but those few precious minutes could get him through his four hour block of lab sessions just a little easier. And Harley had accepted long ago that sometimes missing dinner to grab an hour of sleep before patrol or a study binge was a trade Peter would make without hesitation. 

Harley, who could make fun all he wanted, but the power naps _worked_. Sometimes those small bursts of energy felt like the only thing getting Peter through the day.

He had it down to a science. As long as he felt safe, as long as there was nothing around that could set his spidey senses off, Peter could nap just about anywhere. 

Including on the seat of the booth he and Harley were sharing in the campus cafeteria. 

“Peter,” Harley groaned from across the table, “you can’t be serious right now.” 

With his laptop slammed shut and pushed aside, Peter had grabbed his backpack and began the process of turning it into a pillow. He didn’t even glance over at Harley. 

“If I have to look at one more protein synthesis problem, I’m going to lose it, and I need all I’ve got for this exam. And if I’m not studying, I might as well be sleeping.” 

“How can you even sleep on that thing?” Peter caught the hand wave towards his backpack from the corner of his eye. “There’s no way that’s any kind of comfortable.” 

“It’s not, but it works.” 

Harley raised an eyebrow at him. He’d long since mastered The Look from Tony. “You’re literally wearin’ a hoodie. Why don’t you sleep on that?” 

“Are you serious?” Peter gave him his best kicked-puppy eyes over the top of his phone. “It’s freezing in here. You want me to freeze to death in my sleep, Harley?” 

“How can you be cold? I’m sweatin’ over here, Pete.” 

Peter tossed out a peace sign. “Spider bite.” 

Harley rolled his eyes, but there was a smile fighting at the corner of his mouth; Peter could see it. “Of course. My bad.” 

Peter smiled and looked back down at his phone. He had exactly thirty-two minutes until his biochemistry exam. Which meant if he ran fast enough when he woke up, he could get a full thirty minutes in. Perfect. He set the alarm. 

“Goodnight,” he called over to Harley as he shifted on the seat, preparing to stretch out on his back. The perks of being short: his feet only dangled off the edge a little bit. _Harley wished._

“It’s eleven in the afternoon. And hold on, don’t pass out yet.” 

“Why?” Peter whined, propping himself up on his elbows to stare at his best friend above the table. He blinked when he found Harley in the process of tugging his hoodie over his head - a burgundy-colored Stark Industries one that Tony had ordered just for him. 

“Give me your bag. You can sleep on this.” Harley pushed the fabric across the table. Peter looked at it for a moment, then back up at Harley. 

“Does it smell?”

“Fuck you, Parker.” 

“You did say you were sweating!” But Peter was already lifting his backpack up and shoving it towards Harley, who grabbed it and set it on the seat right beside his. Peter took the hoodie and stuffed it into the corner of the booth where the seat met the wall. 

“You’re welcome for the upgrade.”

“Hey, I’ve slept on that backpack for a whole year, and it’s never let me down before.” 

“Proud of you for managin’ to keep a backpack for that long.” 

Peter, back down on his elbows, raised a hand to flip him off. Harley smirked and blew him a kiss, like the southern belle Peter knew he absolutely wasn’t. 

“Sweet dreams, darlin’.” 

“Fuck you, Keener.” 

He laid his head on the wadded-up hoodie. It did smell, but not of anything disgusting. It smelled like Harley’s body wash, like green apple and movie nights on their couch. Strongly fragrant smells like that normally bothered Peter’s heightened senses, but not Harley’s. Never Harley’s. 

Peter threw his arm over his eyes to block out the fluorescent lights of the cafeteria and settled down to sleep. 

And that day - when Peter woke up twenty-six minutes later to his bag being properly packed up with his laptop and to Harley’s smiling _go kick ass, Pete_ as he began his rush to class - was really where it all started. 

The next time, it happened in the library. 

They had set up camp in a couple of lounge chairs by the window, a fair distance away from the tables and computer stations so they wouldn’t be disturbed. Harley had a lab report due in two hours that he still needed to finish half of. Peter was studying for his biochemistry lab quiz. 

Emphasis on _was_. The second his watch read three-thirty, he was snapping his lab notebook shut and reaching down to stuff it back into his bag. 

“Nap time?” Harley asked, eyes glued to his laptop screen. Peter wiggled down in his chair so he could lay his head against the armrest. It wasn’t a bad spot; he’d certainly slept in less comfortable places before. 

“Nap time,” he echoed. “I woke up early this morning to finish that Calculus assignment for this.” 

Harley huffed a laugh. “I knew you didn’t get up and make me breakfast out of the kindness of your heart.” 

“Didn’t hear you complaining when you were eating.” Peter shifted onto his side and curled his knees against his chest. “You’re cutting into my carefully scheduled sleep session. Quit bothering me and finish your lab report.” 

“Did you set your alarm?” 

A whine immediately came from Peter’s throat, because no, he hadn’t set an alarm; his phone was tucked in the pocket of his backpack and he’d already situated the arm holding his watch beneath his head. And he had _just_ gotten into that perfect comfy spot, too. 

“Wake me up in twenty-five?” 

“What happened to ‘quit botherin’ you and do my lab report?’” 

“ _Harley_ ,” Peter whined again. He lolled his head over towards his friend, only to see the clock feature already pulled up on Harley’s screen.

“Yeah, yeah. Three fifty-five, right? Your quiz is at four?” Peter hummed an affirmation and watched Harley set the alarm. “Okay, I got you. Have a nice nap.” 

Peter’s chest glowed with warmth. It settled like a blanket over his heart and lungs - it felt like safety, and made him feel that much sleepier. _Oh, this was going to be a damn good nap._

“Harls?” Harley looked over at the nickname, eyes blue and expectant, and maybe the tiniest bit bloodshot from staring at a screen for most of the day. “You’re the best.” 

Harley blinked, but smiled once the surprise of the sudden compliment wore off. “I know. Always nice to hear you admit it, though.” 

It was Peter’s turn to huff a laugh. Harley’s smile widened - Peter saw the dimple in his cheek through the droopy feeling slowly overtaking his eyes. 

Then Harley kissed his fingertips, reached over, and flicked Peter lightly on the forehead. It didn’t so much as scratch the warmth that had enveloped him. 

“Go to sleep, Pete.” 

Peter’s eyes fell shut. “Thanks,” he mumbled, letting his head roll back against the armrest. 

“No problem, darlin’.” 

Peter fell asleep to the gentle clicking sounds of Harley typing his report. When Harley woke him up later like he’d promised, Peter found he’d been right - it _had_ been a damn good nap. He spent the rest of the day feeling like he was on top of the world, impending biochemistry lab report be damned. 

The situation began to escalate from there. 

“If I fall asleep in the middle of this movie, mind your business.” 

Harley threw a piece of popcorn at him. It bounced off his shoulder, and Peter caught it before it hit the couch cushion. He popped it into his mouth as Harley said, “I told you we could postpone this if you were tired. The movie’ll be here in the mornin’.” 

“No way. Friday nights are movie nights. That was part of our roommate agreement.” 

“So was splittin’ the grocery shoppin’, yet I’ve done it the last three times we needed it.”

“All the more reason why I can’t bail on movie night,” Peter said cheekily, but he did make a mental note to remember to do the shopping next time, because it really wasn’t fair that Harley was currently the only one doing it. He could picture the disapproving frown May would give him if she heard about that. 

Harley met his grin with a deadpan stare, then threw an entire handful of popcorn at him. Peter laughed and shoveled the kernels from his lap to his mouth as Harley grabbed the remote and started the movie. 

In Peter’s defense, he did make it halfway through. His belly was pleasantly full of popcorn that his metabolism hadn’t quite burned through yet and he was warm all along his left side where he sat pressed against Harley. He accepted pretty quickly that he was inevitably going to fall asleep; he felt too comfy and cozy and _safe_ not to. 

Peter let his head drop down onto Harley’s shoulder. 

“Don’t,” he murmured, when he saw Harley’s other hand reach for the remote again. “It’s nice like this. Keep it on.” He sighed in content as Harley’s hand retreated back to his lap. 

The movie played on, and Peter found himself paying less and less attention as he slowly drifted towards sleep. The actors’ voices became a dull drone. His view of the TV screen grew hazier. Harley’s heartbeat was a steady metronome in his ears to guide his breathing with. 

When he felt Harley shift the arm trapped between them, Peter was too far under to be phased.

Harley carefully looped his arm around Peter’s shoulders, letting his hand come to rest on his bicep. Peter leaned further into him, his head landing on Harley’s collarbone and his own arm sliding across the other’s stomach. Harley was a steady, solid warmth, and Peter didn’t stand a chance. 

“Mind your business,” he slurred sleepily. He felt Harley’s chuckle rumble through his chest. 

“I’m mindin’ it, darlin’.” 

Peter closed his eyes. 

He was right on the edge of sleep when he felt it - something soft and impossibly warm against his forehead. It reminded him of goodnights from his mother, of _I love you_ ’s from May, of _welcome back_ ’s from Tony. 

_Did Harley just kiss my forehead?_

His eyes flew open. 

The living room was silent, save for the sounds of the city that never stopped. The TV was stuck on the movie’s title screen. It gave off a bright white light amid the dimness of the room that made Peter’s eyes hurt. 

Beside him, Harley was asleep: head tipped back, mouth hanging open, shoulders rising and falling with each breath he took. There was no hitch in his breathing, no skip in his heartbeat. He hadn’t woken up. 

_But…. But he could have sworn-_

Peter frowned at himself. He’d obviously slept through the last of the movie, meaning he’d been out for at least an hour. Given the slow steadiness of his breathing, Harley had probably been asleep for half that time. Peter did a quick check-in with his senses and didn’t feel any kind of disturbance besides the ache in his eyes.

Meaning he must have been imagining things. Or dreaming. Or something. 

He pulled himself away from Harley, catching the other’s arm and lowering it back to his side before it could hit the couch cushion. Peter carefully guided him down by his shoulders, letting him lay against the throw pillows they’d shoved against the armrest. He grabbed Harley’s legs and pulled them up onto the couch. Miraculously, Harley stayed asleep through it all, and subconsciously curled himself up when Peter was done. 

Peter watched his best friend for a long moment. Bathed in the light from the television, Harley looked like an angel. An angel sleeping peacefully after a week of being slammed with back-to-back exams and one very late night in the lab. 

Peter grabbed the blanket from the lounge chair and laid it over Harley. He turned the TV off, leaving the thin beams from the street lamps outside to bounce off of Harley’s sleeping face as he crept back to his room. He was already awake; he might as well get some homework done. 

By lunch the next day, Peter had forgotten all about the weird glitch-in-the-simulation moment he’d had the night before. 

Until it happened again. And again. And again. 

Here was the thing: Peter had always thought Harley was attractive. From the moment Peter had watched him step off the jet at the top of the new Avengers tower, there’d been no denying it. Not with Harley’s cornflower blue eyes and tilted smile. Not with the way he shook Peter’s hand like he had something to prove and drawled out Peter’s name in that accent of his that made Peter’s arms break out in goosebumps. 

It very quickly became more than just physical attraction. Harley had a heart just as beautiful as his face. Peter began to see it in everything he did: when he pushed away whatever project he was working on to answer his sister’s phone calls, when he ducked his head alongside a denial of a compliment, when he looked a panicking Peter right in the eye and said, “I know you’re Spider-Man, so tell me what I can do to help you.” 

Harley Keener was his attractive inside-and-out best friend. They went to the same university, had some kind of contact with each other every day, and made the trip to the lake house together every other weekend. Moving into their apartment felt like a natural next step. 

Peter had always thought Harley was attractive, but living with him was when it really clicked. 

Living with Harley meant a lot of things. It meant accepting that he preferred to play his music loudly through a speaker instead of wearing headphones. It meant watching him sleepily sip coffee at the table every morning with the world’s fluffiest bedhead. It meant sitting with him on nights when New York felt too big for him to handle and cheering him up by making him laugh hard enough to snort. 

It meant falling for every little thing that made him _Harley_. 

And Peter did - hook, line, and sinker. 

Which was why he _had to be imagining this._ He was letting his feelings for Harley bleed into his thoughts and make him think this was happening when it wasn’t. 

Because Harley was absolutely most definitely not kissing Peter’s forehead whenever he fell asleep. 

Except maybe he was. 

It kept _happening._ Not every day, not every time he fell asleep, but often enough that Peter was starting to question what he first thought had just been wishful thinking. 

It happened once when Peter was napping at the table between bouts of studying. Again when he crashed on the couch after dinner one night. Even one morning when he woke up to a notification about his first class being cancelled and promptly rolled over to go back to sleep. 

Always, like clockwork, right before he drifted off - a soft brush of warmth against his forehead. A kiss. 

_Harley’s_ kiss, because it had to be Harley. There was nobody else to rule out, no other scenarios to consider. Harley was kissing Peter’s forehead whenever he fell asleep. With impeccable timing, too, seeing as Peter never woke up in time to catch him in the act. 

But Peter was a man of science. He wouldn’t let himself believe it until he had proof.Which meant Peter had to do an experiment and see what results he got. The scientific method had never failed him before. 

_Peter already knew he was right. But he wouldn’t let himself believe it until he knew with absolutely no doubt it was true. Because if it was true, then the question became: where was he supposed to go from here? And for Peter, that question was very, very big._

He conducted his experiment on a Wednesday, two weeks after the movie night that had started it all. On Wednesdays, Peter was normally on campus all day, as he had a few hours in between his morning and early evening classes. Harley, on the other hand, had a block of afternoon classes, so he always left after Peter and got home before him. It was the perfect day to set his plan into action. 

After his morning biochemistry class, Peter went back to the apartment. Harley had already left for his physics class, which meant Peter had roughly three hours of waiting ahead of him. 

Peter wasn’t worried about accidentally falling asleep for real - he was too wired up, his heart was beating way too fast for him to relax. So he kept himself busy: he cleaned around the apartment what Harley hadn’t gotten to yet, did the homework assignment for the Calculus class he knew he’d be missing for this, and had his afternoon phone call with May while she was on her break. 

When his phone screen finally read the time Peter knew Harley’s last class ended, he settled himself onto the couch to wait. 

Peter tried to will his heart to slow down. His blood pounded harshly in his ears. His senses were on high alert, straining to look for the threat that had to be nearby. He curled himself into a ball and fought to ignore them. 

Breathing came easier when Harley walked into the lobby downstairs. His senses let go of their tight hold on the world around him, knowing he was there before Peter even heard the footsteps echoing in the stairwell. The soles of Harley’s shoes slapped against each step he climbed, the sound getting closer and louder as he made his way up-

“-change my password, don’t think I won’t.” Peter exhaled a heavy breath he hadn’t meant to hold as he heard Harley’s voice; he was probably about halfway up. “No, Abby, I’m not gonna let you ‘Netflix and chill’ with _anybody_ usin’ my account. God, I can’t believe you actually said that.” 

If Peter wasn’t so focused on Harley’s footsteps and the increasing volume of his voice as he made it to their floor, he probably would’ve laughed at that. 

“It’s absolutely somethin’ Peter woulda said and you shouldn’t be proud of that. Now I can never let you two talk again.” 

Peter heard the key slide home in the lock and blew out one last breath. 

He shut his eyes. The door opened. 

“My ass I ain’t gonna tell Ma- _Oh, shit._ ” Harley’s voice lowered drastically, down to a murmur. “Shit, Abby, hold on.” Peter heard Abby’s questioning call of her brother’s name before the statics coming from Harley’s phone suddenly muffled - he’d probably shoved it into his pocket. 

There was a soft thud that Peter assumed was Harley’s backpack hitting the floor. Then padded footsteps as he walked across the carpet. Peter reminded himself to keep breathing as he heard Harley stop in front of the couch. 

“Awh, Pete,” Harley mumbled under his breath. It sounded somewhere between worried and sympathetic. Peter listened to him move around some more, and then a blanket was being draped over him - just like Peter had done for Harley that night two weeks ago. 

Harley fiddled with the blanket, making sure Peter’s socked feet were covered and tucking it firmly over his shoulder. His hand lingered there, a heavy warmth that bled through the blanket and Peter’s sweater. 

Nothing happened for a long moment. In Harley’s pocket, Abby was still asking what was going on. Cars honked along the street outside as their tires squealed against the asphalt. Harley’s heartbeat sounded like a bass drum banging against Peter’s ears. 

The disappointment was just starting to creep up on him - because of course Harley wouldn’t do it the one time Peter was prepared for it - when the strong smell of green apple suddenly hit his nose. There was a light pressure on his shoulder - from Harley’s hand, Harley was leaning over him- 

_There._ That soft warmth that had been all Peter could think about the past few days, landing closer to his temple this time from how curled up he was. Harley had kissed his head, and even moved his hand from Peter’s shoulder to add in a careful brush through his hair that Peter immediately missed the second he pulled away. 

And then Harley was gone. The green apple smell faded as muffled footsteps sounded out again. Peter listened as Harley grabbed his backpack from the floor and headed down the hallway. 

“Abby?” Harley kept his voice low. “Hey, sorry, Peter was asleep on the couch and I didn’t wanna wake him.” A knob turned. Door hinges squeaked. “I don’t know, he’s never home this early-” 

As soon as Harley’s bedroom door closed, Peter’s eyes flew open. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. His heart was furiously pounding all over again. 

_Oh my God,_ his brain screamed. _Oh my God._

“Harley’s been kissing my forehead whenever I fall asleep and he doesn’t know that I know about it.” 

Across the table, MJ looked up from her menu. Beside him, Ned said, “Dude, that was _not_ the answer I was expecting to ‘how have you been doing.’” 

Peter reached for his glass of water and gulped half of it down in one go. It was the first time he’d admitted that out loud. The longer he’d kept it to himself, the more he felt ready to burst - he couldn’t _not_ _tell_ his two best friends about what was going on with his third best friend. And it wasn’t like they didn’t already know about his feelings for Harley anyway. 

“Sorry,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Sorry, I’ve just been holding onto that for a while now. I was dying to tell you guys.” 

MJ pointedly handed him a straw. Peter smiled sheepishly as he tore the wrapper off and took a less-crazed sip of his drink. 

“Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?” she asked, glancing over at Ned who nodded his agreement. “Normally, you never shut up about Harley.” 

“I do _not_ talk about him that much,” Peter said defensively, giving Ned a glance of his own asking for backup, only to find him still nodding along with MJ. Peter pouted; Ned gave his shoulder a sympathetic pat. 

“I only just found out for sure,” he mumbled, crossing his arms and slouching down in his seat. “I thought they were like, crush-induced fever dreams or something at first.”

“I’m not even going to say it,” MJ chimed. “It’s no fun when you make it so easy.” 

Peter slouched down further. His sneakers knocked against hers under the table. 

“Well, we can’t wingman you without hearing the full story,” Ned said, and Peter immediately forgave him for his betrayal. “So let’s hear it.”

“I never agreed to be a wingman,” MJ pointed out. 

“F.O.S.” Ned nodded sagely. “It’s part of the job description.” 

MJ groaned, but Peter knew it was for dramatics. If Michelle Jones didn’t want to do something, no one could make her, not even Spider-Man. 

“After we order,” she demanded. “I’m starving and this place has good onion rings.” 

“Fair enough.” 

They talked about lighter things while they waited for their appetizers. MJ complained about her American Literature class. Ned told a story about a prank his roommate pulled on him. Peter even talked about the biochemistry research project he was currently working on. 

When they were halfway through the baskets of fries and onion rings on their table, MJ propped her feet up on Peter’s knees and said, “All right, tell me about these forehead kisses, loser.” Ned cracked his knuckles like he did whenever he was about to go hard at a computer, every bit Peter’s guy-in-the-chair as he had been in high school. Peter was endlessly grateful for both of them. 

He set one hand on MJ’s ankle, the other on Ned’s arm, and told them everything he knew: from the fateful movie night that started it all to catching Harley in the act a few days ago. 

“And I guess I just don’t know what to do about it,” Peter said after he’d finished. “I mean, _should_ I do anything about it? He clearly doesn’t want me to know.” 

“Would you, if the roles were reversed?” MJ asked, chin resting in her palm. Peter sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face.

“I guess not,” he admitted. “But I can’t keep acting like I don’t know about it. That’s not fair to him.” 

“So tell him you know.” MJ shrugged. “You might as well, otherwise he’ll just figure it out on his own. He was in New York for, what, a month before he found out about you-know-who?” 

Peter pointed a fry at her. “Tony tipped him off about that,” he insisted. “He says he didn’t but he _did_.”

“Then don’t give him the chance to be tipped off. Just tell him.” 

“She’s right, Peter,” Ned said. “I mean, you trust Harley with _him_ , and that’s, like, your biggest thing. So trust him with this too. I don’t know Harley as well as you do, but I don’t think he’d react badly.” 

“He wouldn’t be doing it if he planned on reacting badly to you finding out.” MJ suddenly squinted at a spot just above Peter’s head. “Maybe I should go into couples counseling instead of English Lit.” 

“It’s not too late to switch,” Ned offered. She looked over at him with a thoughtful hum, then sat back in her booth and readjusted her feet. Peter gripped her ankle, helping her keep their balance in his lap. 

“Put me down as one of your references,” Peter said. “How do I tell him I know?”

“I’m assuming just sitting him down and being honest with him isn’t an option.” 

“You assume correctly.”

MJ mumbled something about boys being dumb under her breath. Peter knew that she knew he still heard it. 

Ned swallowed a sip of his drink and set the glass down on the table with a very audible _clink_. Peter looked over at him. 

“Ask him if he’s from Tennessee,” Ned said, in his guy-in-the-chair voice that he’d perfected since those first days in high school. “Because he’s the only ten you see.” 

Laughter burst out of him before Peter could stop it. It was loud and drew the attention of other tables around them. Peter ducked his head and tried to smother it in his drink. 

“Ned,” Peter finally managed, not without coughing a little, “ _no_.”

“It’s the perfect segue into telling him!” 

“Harley would _kill me_ before I had the chance to say anything else.” Peter gave him a playful shove. “Leave it to the master over here.”

“Thank you,” MJ chimed. She folded her hands on the table. “So. Since you’re too much of a disaster to just tell him-”

“Not nice,” Peter interrupted. 

“Kind of accurate,” Ned cut in. 

“-then be less direct about it. Don’t make it about you knowing. Wait until he does it again and say something. Tell him thanks. Ask for another one. Etcetera, etcetera.” 

Peter stared at her. Ned was quiet beside him. MJ looked very proud of herself. 

“Maybe you _should_ go into counseling,” Peter said finally. “That was incredible. How did you do that?” 

“That was the Lit major,” MJ answered smugly. “Guess I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be then.” She snatched the last onion ring out of the basket and pointed it at him. “I’ll still take that reference though.”

“It’s yours.”

“A pleasure doing business with you, Parker.” 

“As always, Jones.” 

There was a lull in their conversation as their food came to their table and they all dug in. MJ’s feet made no move to leave his lap - not that Peter minded - and Ned’s elbow knocked against his as they both moved to take a bite of their sandwiches. It was all familiar; these things happened between them all the time. It made him feel better about the unknowns he found himself facing with Harley. 

Peter swallowed his bite. “Seriously, though,” he said, looking between his friends. “Thank you guys. For listening to my dumb problems as much as the real ones.”

“If it’s something bothering you that you need help with, then it’s not dumb,” Ned assured him. MJ pressed the toe of her sneaker against Peter’s thigh to show her agreement. Ned continued, “Even if you ignore my brilliance in favor of MJ’s logic.”

“I never said it wasn’t brilliant,” Peter countered, knocking his elbow purposely into Ned’s that time. “I just said Harley would kick my ass for it.” 

“And don’t imply that my logic isn’t also brilliant, because it definitely is.” 

MJ waved her fork at them. And unlike MJ, Peter always went for the easy shots, and immediately made a Harry Potter joke that had Ned cackling beside him and MJ kicking his knees while trying to hide her smile. 

The rest of their night continued like that: talking and joking and laughing, and even though his meal wasn’t enough to totally fill his stomach, Peter felt good. Sometimes life seemed so busy between classes and fake internships and Spider-Man. It was nice to put all of that on pause for a while and just be a typical young adult with his friends. 

Peter had a feeling he was going to sleep well that night. 

A few days later found Peter standing in the doorway of Harley’s bedroom, watching the other prepare for the presentation he had that afternoon. He was fiddling with the sleeves of his blue plaid button-up when Peter said, “Hey, Harls?” 

Harley looked over. His hair wasn’t styled yet, instead hanging loose and curly around his face. “Yeah?” 

“Are you from Tennessee?”

There was a moment where confusion clouded the blue of Harley’s eyes, and he gave Peter a look that clearly translated to _you literally know I am why did you just ask me that._ Just as quickly, pure horror washed over his features, and Harley’s eyes went wide.

“Peter,” he said slowly. Peter grinned wildly. “Don’t-”

“Because you’re the only ten I see.” 

“Oh my _God_.” Harley’s head dropped back from the force of his groan. Peter laughed so hard he doubled over in the doorway. “I can’t believe you really just said that to me.” 

“Your face,” Peter choked out. “Oh my God, _Harley_ -”

“Don’t ever talk to me again.” Harley shouldered past him and out of the room. In his laughter, it almost knocked Peter over. He pivoted to lean against the wall of the hallway as Harley disappeared into the bathroom. 

“Harls-”

“Do you _know_ how many people follow up with that whenever I mention I’m from Tennessee? Fuckin’ _everybody I meet_ , Peter. You don’t understand how _torturous_ those stupid ice breakers on the first day of classes are.” 

Harley’s head popped out of the bathroom, hair only styled on one side of his head. 

“Peter Benjamin Parker, so help me God, if you don’t _stop laughin’_ -” 

Ignoring him, Peter ducked back into Harley’s room and whipped his phone out of his pocket. He sent a text off to Ned: _Remember that brilliant idea you had at dinner the other night?_

Peter was _exhausted_. 

Which was just so funny, because he’d _thought_ this would be the weekend he could catch up on sleep. Midterms had just wrapped up so his class work was on the lighter side this weekend, and his patrols hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary all week. 

Peter really thought he could relax a little. _Just a little._

And then his spidey senses had wrenched him out of a dead sleep at some awful hour of the morning - it was barely light outside, the sun just beginning to come up. Peter laid in bed, blinking at the ceiling, his heart pounding as all of his senses dialed into whatever was going on. He heard gunshots echo through an alleyway a handful of blocks over. Peter scrambled out of bed and over to his closet to grab his suit. 

Almost three hours later, Peter was climbing back through his bedroom window with a weariness that hung heavy from his bones. His entire body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Without the adrenaline pumping through him, Peter was reminded of his cruel and way-too-early awakening; his bed had never looked so inviting. 

He took his mask off, letting it drop to the floor. He pressed the emblem on his chest, wiggled his way out of his suit, and let it land beside the mask. He knew he shouldn’t just leave them in the middle of his bedroom floor, but Peter took one look at the pile of red and blue fabric and just couldn’t bother. 

He stumbled over to his bed and collapsed onto his mattress. Some of the heaviness left his limbs once he’d sprawled out, enough for him to roll himself up in his blanket. Burying his face into his pillow, Peter shut his eyes and tried to will himself back to sleep. 

It sort of worked. Peter felt more like he was just drifting in and out of consciousness instead of sleeping. But it was good: his blankets were soft and his bed was warm and he could ignore all the thoughts that were always jumbled in his head. His senses were calm now that he was back home - _somewhere familiar, somewhere safe_ \- and Peter let himself just _lay_ for a while. 

Sometime later, Peter heard footsteps coming down the hallway. They stopped outside his door. A silent pause, and then the quiet creaking of his door being nudged open. 

“Pete?” 

Harley’s voice was impossibly soft. The sound of it made Peter sink a little further into his bed. He didn’t answer. Harley came into the room. 

Peter couldn’t quite tell what he was doing. The carpet already muffled the sound of Harley’s footsteps, and once those stopped, Peter couldn’t keep track of him anymore. He thought maybe he heard something shuffling, but it was too quiet for him to distinguish without thinking too hard, so he didn’t try. Peter trusted Harley; whatever he was doing, he could do. Peter would just ask him about it later. Right now, he could feel himself drifting off again, and with the warmth of Harley’s hand on his back, he thought maybe he’d actually fall asleep this time- 

_When did Harley get there?_

But that was definitely what he felt. Harley’s palm and all five of his fingertips, a careful presence on his back, heat seeping from Harley’s skin to Peter’s through the blanket. It sank in to warm Peter’s bones, and Peter felt the weariness lift as drowsiness settled in its place. _Familiar and safe._

Distantly, Peter heard the sound of clothes rustling, like someone was bending over. Like Harley was bending over. Like Harley was bending over _him_. 

The realization made something flicker in Peter’s fogged mind. 

_Oh. Oh, that’s right, he’s going to-_

Harley kissed his head, lips pressing to his temple because Peter had most of his face smashed against his pillow. It reminded him of that afternoon on the couch. And just like then, Peter heard the muffled sound of his footsteps walking away immediately after. 

The flicker grew and sparked behind his eyelids. 

_I was supposed to tell him something. Yeah, I have to say something._

Forcing himself away from the sleep he’d finally found, Peter dragged his eyes open. 

“Harley?” 

Harley stopped in the doorway. Peter craned his head up to see him better. He was still in his pajamas - sweatpants and a wrinkled t-shirt - and had Peter’s suit hanging from his hand. When he turned back to look at Peter, he didn’t seem surprised. 

Peter’s neck started to cramp from the angle his head was at. He let himself drop again, cheek pressing against the fabric of his pillowcase as he watched Harley step back into his room. The legs of Peter’s suit trailed on the floor behind him; Peter could see his mask tucked between Harley’s clenched fingers. 

Harley crouched down at his bedside. “Hey, Pete. You with me?” he asked softly. Peter nodded against his pillow. “Good. Are you hurt anywhere?” Peter hummed a no. “Okay. You need anythin’? Your headphones?” He tipped his head towards the nightstand’s drawer, where Peter always kept the noise-cancelling headphones Tony had made him.

Peter hummed another no. “Not an overload,” he mumbled. “Police chase. Just tired.” 

Harley nodded. “It’s still kinda early. You should get some more sleep. I’ll take care of your suit, yeah? Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks,” Peter murmured. “Thanks, Harley.” 

“‘Course.” 

Harley gave him a little half-smile and shifted his weight to stand back up. 

“Can you do it again?” Peter asked before he could. Harley blinked at his question, but stayed crouched down. 

“Do what again, darlin’?” 

“Kiss my forehead? Like you always do?” 

Harley’s eyes were so, so blue. He stared down at Peter, jaw slack and his lips parted like he meant to say something but couldn’t. Harley didn’t seem afraid, or cornered, or even all that surprised. It reminded Peter instead of all the times they’d gotten into debates with Tony, about anything they could think to debate about, and Tony threw something at Harley that he just didn’t know how to respond to right away. And sometimes Harley’s brain would catch up and he’d throw something back, and other times he’d huff and let Tony have the win because whatever he was looking for wasn’t quite close enough for him to grasp. 

This time, Harley reached out and cupped a careful hand around Peter’s jaw, so his ear was slotted between Harley’s thumb and forefinger. Peter felt like he could melt into his bed right then and there. His eyes were slipping shut before Harley’s lips even touched his forehead. 

Harley kissed him, and let his lips linger on Peter’s skin longer than he normally did. Peter exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He felt Harley do the same; his breath was warm where it fanned across Peter’s forehead. 

“Go to sleep, Peter,” Harley whispered. His thumb brushed a curl behind Peter’s ear. “New York’ll be here when you wake up.” 

Peter slept. 

He slept straight through the afternoon. 

When Peter opened his eyes a few hours later, his room was dark. Harley had drawn his blackout curtains over the window, ensuring the sunlight glinting through the glass didn’t wake him up. A glance at his nightstand showed him that Harley had also left him a glass of water. It had long since warmed to room temperature; Peter gulped it all down anyway. He tugged on his pajama pants still on the floor from that morning and grabbed a fresh sweatshirt from his closet on his way out of the room. 

The television was on, playing at a low volume, but Harley was sitting at their kitchen table instead of on the couch. There was a textbook open in front of him, his notebook covering one of the pages. He was chewing idly at the cap stuck on the end of his pen when he looked up and saw Peter standing there. 

“Hey, Sleepin’ Beauty.” Harley gave him a lopsided smile. “Nice nap?” 

Peter rubbed an eye with his knuckle. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “but you could’ve woken me up sooner.”

“Easy, Pete. You needed the sleep, and besides-” Harley gestured around their apartment, “-New York is still here, just like I said it would be. You didn’t miss anythin’.” 

Peter glanced out the kitchen window. The sun was slowly starting to set, leaving the sky over the city a mix of bright blue and soft pink. It reminded Peter of cotton candy. 

“My suit?” he asked, looking at Harley. The other had already gone back to whatever he was working on. 

“Hangin’ in the bathroom. I called Tony and he told me how to wash it. Should be dry enough to wear if you’re gonna patrol tonight.” Harley pointed his pen over his shoulder. “And I left lunch in the fridge for you. Figured you’d be hungry whenever you got up.”

As if on cue, Peter’s stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him that not only had he slept through lunch, but had been out chasing a group of baddies during breakfast. He hadn’t eaten today; he’d promised May and Tony he wouldn’t do that anymore. 

“You didn’t have to make me anything,” Peter chided anyway, walking over to the fridge. Right on the bottom shelf inside was a dinner plate filled with sandwiches. He took the plate out, along with two water bottles, and grabbed a bag of chips from the cabinet too. 

“Already made some for myself,” Harley said, as Peter came to sit at the table across from him. “It wasn’t any trouble.” He took the water bottle Peter handed over. “And before you ask, yes, I put pickles on ‘em.” 

Peter beamed. “You’re the best, Harls.”

Harley grinned back, all teeth and cheekiness. “So you’ve told me.” 

Peter rolled his eyes and nodded towards Harley’s textbook. “Tell me about what you’re working on,” he said. And Harley did, explaining the equations of his physics homework while Peter wolfed down his food. They eventually fell into silence as Harley focused on completing another problem. Peter listened to the scratches of his pen against the paper and started on his fourth sandwich. 

Six sandwiches and half a bag of chips later, Peter sat back in his chair and gulped down the last of his water. He felt pleasantly full, and his metabolism was happy. He should be fine to patrol tonight, but he still swore to himself he’d be extra diligent about eating tomorrow. 

It was back to the books anyway, and snacking was an essential part of studying. 

Peter wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Across the table, Harley had his cheek resting on a fist as he scribbled away at another problem, a thoughtful twist to his lips. 

“Thanks for lunch,” he said. “Or dinner. Whatever you wanna call it.”

Harley didn’t look up from his notebook, but he did smile.

“It was really nothin’, but you’re welcome.” 

“Well, it was something to me.” Peter crossed his arms and leaned forward again to rest them on the table. “And thanks for taking care of my suit, too. You definitely didn’t have to do that.” 

“Not a problem.” 

“Same with the curtains. And the water. And checking on me at all. Especially since I probably woke you up this morning, right? I might have slammed the window shut behind me. Sorry if I did, I was in a rush, I wasn’t-”

“Peter.” 

Peter looked up from his sweatshirt sleeves. Harley was staring back at him, not unkindly, but no longer smiling either. 

“I already said you’re welcome, so quit thankin’ me. And you didn’t wake me up. I went to check on you when you never came out of your room and you were already gone. I was just listenin’ for you to come back.” 

There was another _thank you_ on Peter’s tongue. He swallowed it down. 

“Sorry if I worried you,” he said instead. Harley shook his head. 

“I knew what I was gettin’ into when we moved in together.” 

“Does that include learning how to wash my suit and remembering my sensory issues?” 

“Nope.” Harley winked at him. “That’s just good ol’ southern hospitality, darlin’.” 

There was an ink smear on Harley’s chin, black and smudged. Peter could see the matching one on the side of his hand. MJ’s words rattled around in his head.

“What about the kisses?” 

The words were out of his mouth before Peter could think too hard about them. He bit his lip and told himself not to take them back or smooth them over. He wanted to know. _He just wanted to know._

Like earlier in his bedroom, Harley didn’t seem all that shocked by Peter’s words. He lifted his head from his hand and sat straight-backed in his chair. The look on his face made Peter think he’d been waiting for the question all along. 

“That’s what Mama does,” Harley said. He spoke slowly, but there was no hesitation in his voice. “She’d do it when she’d tuck me in, back when I was little. And when she started workin’ nights at the diner, and I had to start puttin’ Abby to bed, I did the same thing for her.” 

The answer settled warmly in Peter’s chest. 

“So it’s a Keener thing.” 

Harley hummed. “Yeah, guess it is.” 

Of course it was. Just like it was his mother’s thing, May’s thing, Tony’s thing. Of course it would end up being Harley’s thing too. Something about grouping Harley in with all of them just felt _right_. 

“You know,” Peter said softly, “you don’t have to wait until I’m asleep. You can do it when I’m awake, if you want to.” 

Harley kept his face carefully passive, but Peter could hear the whistle in his breath, the new rhythm of his pulse pounding in his neck. His voice was just as soft as he replied, “Do you want me to?” 

Peter wrestled with a thousand responses to that question, all in the space of one of Harley’s heartbeats. 

“Yes,” is the one that ended up leaving his mouth. It boomed in his ears, made Peter almost wince with how loud it sounded to him, but Harley’s lack of reaction made him wonder if he had even said it at all. He parted his lips to say it again.

Harley pushed his chair back and stood up. Peter shut his mouth so quickly his teeth clacked together. 

Harley came around to where Peter sat on the other side of the table. Peter pushed his own chair out, turning so he faced Harley when he stopped in front of him. There, Harley finally hesitated, his fingers twitching at his sides as they stared at each other.

Peter saw the moment Harley steeled himself, saw the way his jaw tightened and how something like determination settled in the blue of his eyes. He lifted his hands and placed them just under Peter’s ears. Peter let him tip his head back.

Harley leaned down and pressed his lips to Peter’s forehead, soft and warm like every sleep-hazed time before. It sent a thrill zipping down Peter’s spine; he reached out instinctively to grab Harley’s hips, looking for something solid to hold onto, and he had always been able to find that in Harley. 

“Pete, look at me.” 

Peter opened his eyes. He didn’t remember closing them. Harley still held his face, keeping his head tipped back as Peter stared up at him. The yellowed lights of their kitchen brought out the hints of brown in Harley’s hair as it hung curly and unstyled around his face. The steely courage that got them there hadn’t left his eyes. 

“I’ve got you, okay?” Peter blinked, but Harley plowed on before he could ask any questions. “I know you’re a superhero, and you have tons of unbelievable tech literally at your fingertips, and you’ve got Tony Stark and the Avengers and so many other incredible people in your corner.” He gave Peter a wry smile. “And I know I’m just a kid from Tennessee who doesn’t know anythin’ about what you go out and face every day because your _big fuckin’ heart_ tells you that you have to. But I’ve got you. You’ve got New York and I’ve got you. Always. Okay?” 

Harley had never looked at him so intently before, had never been so insistent for Peter to listen and understand what he was saying. And Peter-

-Peter was going to cry. He could feel it: the lump forming in his throat, the burn growing behind his eyes, the wobble rippling across his bottom lip. He didn’t know where that had come from or why Harley was so adamant that he hear it, but he appreciated it. Unexpected as they were, Harley’s words hit home somewhere inside Peter’s soul as something he’d needed to hear. 

He blinked, and felt a stray tear roll down his cheek. Peter ducked his head and hid his face against Harley’s chest, his fingers twisting tightly into the fabric of the other’s sweatpants. Harley must have felt the pull, because he stepped between Peter’s knees, bringing his stomach flush with Peter’s chest. Peter immediately wrapped him in a proper hug; one of Harley’s hands carded through the hair at the back of his neck. 

Peter breathed a few shaky breaths against Harley’s shirt before he said, “You’re important.” He squeezed Harley tight. “ _You’re_ one of those incredible people in my corner and you are so, _so_ important, Harley.”

It was the only thing Peter could think to say that was anywhere near the same magnitude of what Harley had told him. He meant every word. 

And he heard the hitch in Harley’s breath, felt Harley’s other hand slide down to grip his shoulder, and knew he’d hit the same spot in Harley’s soul. 

Harley dipped his head to drop another kiss to Peter’s hair and didn’t lift it back up. 

They stayed like that, wrapped around each other, for a long time. Eventually, though, Harley squeezed his shoulder and slowly pulled away. Peter reluctantly let his arms fall from around him. 

“You should get in the shower.” Harley’s voice sounded rough. Peter knew if he spoke, he would sound the same way. “You stink from this morning.” He gave Peter that little half-smile of his. Peter, definitely with a red face and puffy eyes, offered him a little smile back. 

Peter’s knees felt all kinds of wobbly when he stood up. Again, instinctively, he reached for Harley, and again Harley let him, holding onto Peter’s elbows as he found his balance. Peter looked up at him. 

“Thanks, Harley,” he whispered. “I mean it, you know?”

Harley rubbed his thumb along the crease of his elbow. “I know,” he whispered back. “Thank you, too, Pete.” 

Peter went to take his shower and Harley went back to his physics homework. And they didn’t talk about what happened in the kitchen that afternoon. 

But later that night, when Peter was getting ready to head out for patrol, he heard footsteps stop at his open door. He turned, and there was Harley, leaning against the door frame. 

“Suit’s good?” he asked. Peter smiled.

“Suit’s great. Like this morning never happened.” 

“Cool.” Harley pushed himself off the door frame and moved to stand in front of Peter. “Be safe, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Peter nodded. “Don’t worry about waiting up for me, okay? I’ll be fine. And I’ll call you if I’m not.” 

“You better.” 

When Harley reached for him, Peter didn’t question or try to stop him. He let Harley reach down and grab his wrist. He let Harley cup his face. And he let Harley pull him close to plant a kiss right in the middle of his forehead. It was brief, but made Peter’s chest glow all the same. 

“Go kick some ass, Spidey.” 

Peter grinned, took a step back, and pulled his mask on. Harley shut the window behind him after he left. 

And if Peter stayed out an hour or two later than he normally did because he was too giddy to even think about lying in bed to sleep, no one needed to know. Not May, not Tony, and certainly not Harley. 

Nothing changed between them, but everything was different. 

Peter had prepared himself for _some degree_ of awkwardness following their emotionally charged afternoon. But any ounce of anxiety Peter may have had over the whole thing vanished the next morning when Harley shuffled into the kitchen, offering Peter a half-awake _mornin’, darlin’_ and dropping a kiss on top of his head as he made his way over to the coffee pot. 

So, no, nothing changed. They still took turns doing the shopping and the cooking. They still did homework and studied together. They still bickered and teased each other endlessly. 

But it was different. A good different that meant anything was fair game for one of Harley’s kisses. True to Peter’s request, they were no longer limited to his naps. 

If Peter walked into the kitchen for something while Harley was cooking, Harley curled a careful arm around his neck and tugged him in. 

When Peter was scrambling to leave on time for his morning class, Harley stopped him with a hand around his wrist and yanked him close. 

After a bout of teasing at Peter’s expense left him pouting and petulant, Harley grinned triumphantly but still leaned over him. 

And - always, now - when Peter fell asleep: at night before they each headed into their rooms, on the couch when Peter didn’t make it to the end of a movie, even when Peter took his power naps in ridiculous places around campus. 

Peter was starting to get a Pavlovian response to Harley’s kisses. While they were plenty nice to get when he was wide awake, sometimes it felt like one kiss could knock him right out. On nights when Peter couldn’t sleep or woke up shivering from a nightmare, he’d go looking for them; and whether he was up cranking out an assignment or being shaken awake in his bed, Harley was always there to give them. 

_Another difference, but Harley’s bed had quickly become one of Peter’s favorite places to be. Lying next to Harley with his face tucked in the other’s chest, his back to the cool open air of the room because Harley knew he couldn’t sleep pressed against the wall - it was a safe haven where nightmares and insomnia couldn’t touch him._

But their interactions were no longer just Peter seeking out Harley’s affections. Because Peter’s thing quickly became clinging to Harley like a koala every chance he got. It was a habit that snowballed into a routine once Peter realized he could reach for Harley _just because he wanted to_ and Harley would let him. 

He could rest against Harley’s back while he cooked. He could wiggle under Harley’s arm while he studied. He could stop Harley anywhere in their apartment just to hug him, just to steal a moment of his warmth, and Harley would hug him back without question. 

One day, they were in the living room watching game show reruns while they worked. Harley had opted to sit on the floor with his laptop on the coffee table, claiming that the couch was too comfortable for him to focus. Peter was slouched on the cushion behind him, textbook open on his stomach and his legs on either side of Harley. And Peter, suddenly filled with the urge to touch, had shoved the textbook away and scooted forward. His arms went over Harley’s shoulders, tugging him against his chest. Not missing a beat, Harley shifted into a more comfortable position and leaned back. One of his hands went up to card through Peter’s hair over his shoulder. 

“Is this the Parker thing?” he asked. Peter hummed thoughtfully, because did the Parkers have a thing, besides their infamous Parker luck? 

“Maybe. May and Ben always were big on hugs.” He paused, then added softly, “But if I’m doing it too much-” 

Harley’s fingers tugged lightly on his ear. “That wasn’t why I asked. I was just wonderin’.” He slung his other arm over Peter’s thigh, like he was lounging in a chair. “Get your fill, darlin’, because I do really need to finish this and you can’t keep distractin’ me.” 

Peter heard the grin in his voice, and that was enough for him to take Harley up on his offer. He pressed his face into Harley’s neck and stayed there until his spine ached from the angle; Harley tipped his head back and brushed a kiss against his ear when he pulled away. 

The conversation filtered to the back of Peter’s mind, and he didn’t think about it again until that Friday night, when he was having dinner with May. 

“Did you and Uncle Ben have a thing?” he asked her, halfway through his bowl of pad thai. May looked up from her own bowl, her glasses resting low on the bridge of her nose. 

“A thing?” she repeated. 

“Yeah. Like, you know, something you always did. Something special. It was your thing.”

“Hmm. I guess I never really thought about it.” May pursed her lips and rhythmically tapped a chopstick against her bowl as she considered his question. Peter finished his pad thai while he waited. 

She broke her rhythm with a more powerful tap and pointed a single chopstick at him. “You know what he used to do?” She pushed her glasses further up on her nose. “He used to kiss the back of my hand. Like all the princes do in the movies.” 

Peter paused in reaching for his second container of food. “He did?” 

“He did.” May nudged the container into his hand with her chopsticks. He smiled at her in thanks, refilling his bowl as she continued on. “He did it more often when we were still dating. I think he only did it because he knew I thought it was ridiculous. But it was sweet. You know how your uncle was.” She sighed, and it was tinged with sadness, but she still smiled. “Is that what you mean? Was that our thing?”

Peter grinned. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.” 

There was a lapse of silence as they both ate a few bites, then Peter said, “I think I remember that. There was one morning he grabbed you and started dancing with you around the kitchen. And he did, he kissed your hand. We were making pancakes.”

May laughed, rolling her eyes. “And he burned those pancakes. The entire apartment smelled like smoke all day.” 

Peter remembered. He remembered sitting on the counter where Ben had put him in charge of the chocolate chips, and a song Ben particularly liked had played on a TV commercial in the living room. And he sang along even when the commercial ended, grabbing May and singing to her and spinning her around the tiny kitchen. Peter had giggled while he watched them, too transfixed on how happy they looked to notice the wall of smoke rising from the griddle beside him. If he thought hard enough, Peter could practically smell the acrid smoke, could hear the piercing wail of the smoke alarm. 

“And he did it right before the smoke alarm went off. It scared you so bad you smacked him in the mouth.” 

“And you still ate those God-awful looking pancakes.” 

“I had to! You had just hit him in the face! And then I was supposed to tell him I didn’t want the pancakes I had asked him for? I have a heart, May!”

They were both laughing now, hunched over their bowls and clutching their chopsticks. Peter reached for his glass of water and gulped it down to stop his laughter. May wiped at her eyes, shaking her head fondly. 

“You know,” she said suddenly, “your father did it, too.”

Peter perked up. “Really?” 

“I saw him do it a few times. He was more suave about it than Ben was. It always worked better on your mother than it did on me.” She tapped the frame of her glasses. “And who knows which one of them put the idea in the other’s head in the first place.” 

At the same time, they said, “Ben,” and dissolved into laughter once more. 

It was nice. Peter knew it was. His parents and Uncle Ben and the old apartment he grew up in might be gone, but May was right here laughing with him. Tony and Pepper and Morgan were upstate in the lake house. Ned was probably playing video games in his dorm, MJ was probably reading in her studio apartment. And Harley was back at their apartment - _back home_ \- having his own family dinner with Abby and his mother over FaceTime. 

“I guess that is the Parker thing, then,” Peter mused aloud. “Thanks for telling me, May.”

“Of course, baby.” May set her chopsticks down and pushed her bowl across the table, offering Peter what was left in it. “So, what’s this about a Parker thing?” 

Peter shrugged as he added the last bit of May’s food into his bowl. “It’s just something Harley and I have been talking about,” he explained. “His family has a Keener thing. He asked if we had a Parker thing.” 

“Ah. And is their Keener thing as cliche as our Parker thing?”

“You know what, I think we’ve got them beat.” Peter twirled a large bite between his chopsticks and held it out in mock cheers. “Bedtime forehead kisses.” 

“Oh, we definitely win,” May agreed. “That’s sweet, but it doesn’t top fairytale princes.” 

“I’ll have to tell Harley I’m the real prince out of the two of us, as much as he tries to act like one with all his forehead kisses.” 

Peter smiled to himself. Harley was simultaneously the most and least princely person he knew - he had the heart for it, but certainly not the mouth. Peter made a mental note to tell Harley that later, too. 

He looked back up and paused mid-chew when he locked eyes with his aunt, who was staring at him with a knowing smile, like she’d just caught him doing something he knew he wasn’t supposed to be doing. It reminded him of his early Spider-Man days, when she would confront him in the kitchen the morning after he’d stayed out on patrol past curfew and thought he’d gotten away with it. 

“What?” he asked slowly. May shook her head.

“Nothing,” she chimed. “I just think it’s nice that Harley’s let you in on the Keener tradition.” 

Peter blinked owlishly at her. “I mean, I didn’t _say_ that-” 

“It did sound rather implied.” May rested her chin in her palm. The lights above the table reflected off the clear polish on her fingernails. “So you aren’t part of his princely kissing endeavors?” 

“I-” Peter cleared his throat, “-might be. Somewhat.” He pointed a chopstick at her. “ _Forehead_ kisses. That’s- That’s it.” 

“Oh, of course.”

“I’m serious, May.”

“So am I.” 

Peter set his chopsticks down and leaned back in his chair. “I’m _serious_ ,” he said again. “He hasn’t- We’ve never- It’s nothing like that. He just does it to help me fall asleep sometimes.” Which wasn’t a complete lie, so Peter hoped he could sneak that one by, even with his awful lying skills. 

May’s wide smile and twinkling eyes told him he hadn’t.

“Peter, baby, I love you. That isn’t nothing. That’s definitely _something_.”

“I love you, too. And it’s-” Peter paused and wrestled for the right word, “-complicated.”

May finally took pity on him. She reached over and placed her hand palm up on the table. Peter set his on top of hers without question. 

“You don’t have to explain it to me if you don’t want to,” she said gently, “but don’t get too into your head about it, baby. Be fair to yourself.” 

She traced her thumb along the side of his hand. It was a simple action, but Peter found it endlessly comforting. He sighed through his nose and glanced up at her.

“I care about him a lot,” he murmured. “And it wasn’t like I didn’t know before, but he’s just been a lot more direct about showing he cares about me too. Things are...different, between us, but they’re good. They’re really good.” May’s smile had softened while he spoke, so Peter pressed on. “It really isn’t anything past that right now. But it’s okay. I’m...I’m happy. He makes me really happy.” 

“Oh, Peter.” She squeezed his hand. He squeezed back. “You know that’s all I’ll ever care about, right? That you’re happy? I’ll always tease you about it because I’m your aunt, but I want you to be happy.” 

Peter smiled back at her. “I know, May,” he promised. He freed his hand and turned hers over so he could tuck his fingers beneath her palm. Peter dipped low over the table and brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. May started laughing as soon as she caught on to his plan, and once he’d let her hand go, Peter laughed along with her. 

“You are so much like your uncle,” May said, with another fond shake of her head. Peter grinned toothily. 

“Suave like Dad, though, right?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

And they laughed some more. 

Peter left his aunt’s with a happy heart, a full belly, and better feelings about his situation with Harley. It was far from orthodox, but May approved of it, and that was a win in Peter’s book. 

_When Peter and Tony had first introduced them, Peter had been terrified that they wouldn’t get along. That Harley would be too brash and May would be too evocative. Instead, Harley helped May not burn dinner and May pulled Peter aside at the end of the night to whisper to him, “He’s going to be good for you, I can tell.” He and Tony had exchanged thumbs up’s from across the room and Peter had no idea how right May would end up being._

Their apartment was dark when Peter came in, but he could hear Harley down the hall. He followed the sound of running water and stood in the doorway of the bathroom. Harley was bent over the sink, splashing water on his face. His hair clung wet to the back of his neck. 

He grabbed a towel as he straightened and patted his face dry. When he lowered it, he saw Peter standing behind him in the mirror, and smiled. Peter smiled back. 

“Hey.” His voice was pitched lower than normal, a sign that told Peter he was tired. “How was dinner?” 

“My stomach hurts from three bowls of pad thai and laughing too much, so not bad. How was yours?”

“It was good. Mama likes her new job and Abby started her art classes at the community center. They’re both doin’ great.” 

Harley fiddled with the towel in his hands, quiet in a way that had nothing to do with how late it was. 

Peter walked forward. It felt like instinct at this point to slide his arms around Harley’s middle; he thought maybe Harley felt that too, by the way he shifted to make room for Peter at his back. 

Peter had to stand on tip-toe to reach, but he hooked his chin over Harley’s shoulder, pressing his cheek to the curve of his neck. Harley tipped his head to rest against Peter’s. 

“Homesick?” Peter asked. He craned his neck to stay where he was as Harley heaved a sigh. 

“I don’t miss Tennessee,” he answered honestly. “Miss them, though. It ain’t the same through a screen.” 

Peter understood. It was the same reason why he hadn’t taken Tony up on his offer for MIT. He had to stay close to May, to Ned and MJ - sometimes the few hour drive upstate made it feel like Tony was too far away. He’d always thought Harley was strong for doing what he did - not just for getting himself out of a situation he hadn’t been happy in, but for doing it so far away from his family. 

“Winter break isn’t too far away,” Peter offered. “You’ll see them soon. And your mom will be so overbearing and Abby will be so annoying that it’ll fix you right up and you’ll be dying to come back to New York.” 

Harley laughed a little. He dropped the towel and moved his hands over Peter’s, linking their fingers together on his stomach. 

“That is normally how it goes, ain’t it?” 

Peter glanced down at the reflection of their joined hands. 

“I asked May, by the way,” he said, flicking his eyes back up to Harley’s in the mirror. “About the Parker thing.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yup. Hand kissing. The whole princely shebang.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Harley rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Hand kissin’, Jesus. You better not, Pete, that’s on the same level of betrayal as the pick-up line.” 

Peter giggled. “I don’t think May will mind keeping it in the family,” he agreed. “Which means that this-” He squeezed his arms around Harley, “-is a Peter Parker exclusive. Lucky you.” 

Harley pulled his hands free, taking hold of Peter’s wrists and gently loosening his grip. Peter fell back on the balls of his feet, looking up as Harley turned to face him. When their fronts were pressed together, Harley reconnected Peter’s hands at the small of his back, and brought his arms up to circle Peter’s shoulders. 

“Yeah,” Harley murmured. “Lucky me.” 

Peter squeezed him again as Harley planted a kiss on his forehead. 

“Parker thing wins, though,” he murmured back. “Fairytale prince beats southern hospitality.” 

“Says who?” 

“Aunt May.” 

Harley huffed another laugh. He hunched himself over enough to tuck his face into the crook of Peter’s neck. Peter adjusted his feet to more comfortably hold him up. 

“Can’t argue with Aunt May,” Harley said. His wet hair brushed cold against Peter’s skin. “You’d be a good fairytale prince, anyway.” 

Peter stared at his reflection over Harley’s shoulder - or, at least, what he could see of it. He’d never realized how much Harley practically engulfed him when they hugged. In the mirror, Peter was just a small face over Harley’s shoulder and two arms wrapped around his back. His hair was starting to curl out of the product he’d put in it, but he wasn’t willing to give up his grip on Harley to do anything about it. He didn’t want to move _at all_. If he stayed in this bathroom all night, holding Harley right here, he’d be happy. 

But Harley was becoming more and more of a weight against Peter’s chest, all languid and pliant muscle as he leaned into him. He was tired, and it wasn’t fair of Peter to keep him from his bed any longer. 

“Can I stay with you tonight?” 

Peter bit his lip as soon as the words were out of his mouth; he didn’t know if he’d actually wanted to say them or not. He watched Harley in the mirror, waiting for his shoulders to stiffen or his head to lift - for any sign that Peter’s question had made him uncomfortable. 

Instead, he got a warm, soft, _sleepy_ laugh, and a broad palm splaying against the back of his neck.

“Darlin’,” Harley whispered, “you never gotta ask.” 

Peter closed his eyes and basked in those words. They echoed in his head as he fell asleep next to Harley that night. 

“Are you and Harley dating?”

Peter dropped the plate he was washing. It clattered loudly back into the sink, sounding like it had shattered into a million pieces, but when Peter snatched it up again, it was thankfully still intact. 

Tony looked at him, unimpressed. “I thought your spider senses were supposed to prevent things like that.”

Peter glared over at him. From the living room, Harley called out, “Everythin’ okay in there?” 

“Yeah!” Peter called back. “Tony just dropped the plate he was drying!” Tony’s expression shifted to something more offended - _dramatic,_ Peter mentally corrected.

“That was rude.”

“I didn’t make you drop the plate. Maybe your hand’s acting up. I’ll take a look at it later, if you want me to.”

Tony made a point to reach his metal arm across his chest just to shove Peter’s shoulder with it. His spidey senses did save the plate that time. 

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“Kinda, yeah.” 

Tony mumbled something about _disrespectful young adults_ under his breath that Peter definitely heard and elbowed him for. 

It was the weekend before the semester’s finals, and Peter was glad that it had ended up coinciding with one of their weekends at the lake house. Everything always felt a little easier here, away from the constant noise of the city and with one Morgan Stark around to provide plenty of emotional support hugs. In fact, Morgan had sat with them throughout the afternoon and did her homework while Peter and Harley studied; although between marvelling at how big Morgan was getting and being aware of every point of contact he and Harley had beneath the table, Peter wasn’t sure how much studying he actually got done. 

As if knowing exactly where Peter’s train of thought had taken him, Tony nudged him again, gentler this time and with his good arm. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said. “Are you and Harley-?”

“I know what the question was.” Peter’s cheeks felt hot enough without the reminder. 

“You know I don’t care if you are, right? You know that? I don’t want you two to think you have to sneak around in my house-” 

“As well as you’re handling this,” Peter interrupted, passing him another plate to dry, “Harley and I are not sneaking around-” Except they kinda were, with the unspoken agreement that the interactions they’d gotten so used to in their apartment were best kept behind closed doors here at the lake house, “-because we aren’t dating.” 

“Are we getting technical here? Do the kids not call it ‘dating’ anymore? Cut me some slack here, Pete, you know I’m old.” 

Peter glanced over his shoulder. From his spot at the sink, he could see into the living room where Harley and Morgan were spread out on the floor with a game of Candy Land. Pepper was in there with them, her socked feet just visible in Peter’s line of sight where she lounged on the couch with a book. Harley was stretched out on his stomach, an elbow bent to support his head as he listened to Morgan fiercely debate why she shouldn’t have to stay stuck in the Gumdrop Forest for another turn. He seemed oblivious to the situation happening in the kitchen. 

He also had that little half-smile on his face - Peter’s favorite, the one that made Peter want to hug him tight and never let him go. 

“We aren’t dating,” he said again, turning back to face the sink. He picked up the last plate and began rinsing it. The water ran orange from the leftover spaghetti sauce. 

“But you’re something?” Tony pressed. Peter could feel his stare burning into the side of his head. “Or are we ignoring that puppy dog look you literally just gave him?”

“Harley and I are-” _Just friends_ , Peter didn’t say, because it wasn’t true and Peter couldn’t - _wouldn’t_ \- pretend it was. But he also didn’t know what they were. Not friends, not boyfriends - what was the word for whatever was in between?

Behind them, there was an indignant shout of “ _Harley_!” followed by Harley’s loud laughter. Pepper’s voice filtered into the edges of Peter’s hearing, reminding Morgan to play fairly, but Harley’s laugh took priority. Peter could practically picture him with his head tipped back, his hair messy and curly around his ears, his shoulders lax with his good mood-

“Pete?” 

Peter blinked and realized he wasn’t washing the plate anymore. It was tipped in his hand at an angle that meant the water was soaking the end of his sweater sleeve where he’d pushed it up on his forearm. He quickly set the plate down and pulled his arm from the sink. 

Tony passed him the dish towel he’d been using. As Peter worked on drying his sleeve, Tony carefully shuffled him away from the sink and took his place. His artificial arm glinted in the low light of the ceiling fan. It snapped Peter back into focus. 

“You shouldn’t get your arm wet-”

“Easy, kid, I only need one of them.” Tony kept the plate in the sink and used his flesh-and-bone hand to finish scrubbing it clean. The metal one hung at his side, out of the way. “Ye of little faith. How do you think I get by when you’re not around?”

“Pepper,” was Peter’s immediate answer. Tony shot him a look over his shoulder, but he was smiling. 

“All right, fine, you got me there.” 

Peter gave him a small smile back. He wrung as much water out of his sleeve as he could before passing the towel back to Tony to dry the plate. Water dripped to the floor from Tony’s hand; Peter mopped it up with the bottom of his sock. 

“I’m not purposely avoiding your question,” Peter said, once Tony had stacked the plates back into the cabinet. Tony shifted to lean against the countertop, arms crossing over his chest. 

“I’m not trying to force you into telling me anything,” he replied. “I meant it about the sneaking, though. Be as specific as you want with it, but I know what I’m seeing, Pete. I know you and I know Harley. I want you two to be comfortable here.” 

“I am,” Peter said honestly. “ _We_ are. I know Harley is, too. That’s...partly why I didn’t say anything about it.” He scratched at his cheek, knowing it was probably still flushed a bright pink. “About us. Harley and me. I didn’t think it’d be fair to him, you know?” 

It was a philosophy that Harley didn’t know about - at least, Peter hoped he didn’t - but one that Peter followed for a lot of things between them. He told May everything, always, because she was his aunt. He was glad that Ned and MJ had taken to Harley as well as they had, but he also knew their friendship with him was different than the one they had with Peter, so he felt okay telling them things, too. 

Tony was different. He was someone Peter and Harley shared. Harley held Tony in all the same esteems Peter did, so it had never felt right in his gut to talk to Tony about Harley. Anything outside of an emergency - like the time Harley had managed to get into a fight with some thugs in an alley and broke his wrist before Spider-Man showed up - Peter didn’t bring up to him. It felt wrong and unfair: two things Harley had felt too much of in his life. 

_The first night in their apartment together, Harley had sat next to Peter on the couch and told him the story of how he’d been outed years ago. He’d confided in the wrong person, hadn’t said anything other than he’d been questioning it, and suddenly his whole high school knew. Harley couldn’t bear his mother and sister finding out like that, and so he’d told them, even though he hadn’t been ready to. He’d had tears in his eyes that Peter let soak into his shirt when he hugged him. Peter never wanted Harley to feel like that again._

He’d never explicitly told Tony any of that, but he seemed to understand anyway. He stared at Peter for a long moment before nodding his head, like he’d come to some kind of conclusion. Peter waited for it. 

“You want some hot chocolate?” 

Peter blinked. “Uh?”

“I know we just had dinner, but what do you say, kid? That superhuman metabolism of yours have any room left?” 

Tony was already digging through the snack cupboard in search of the box. Realizing he was serious, Peter headed over to the fridge and grabbed the milk.

“My metabolism always has room for hot chocolate.” 

They stood together at the counter, with Tony’s metal arm between them. Peter looked up at Tony. Tony looked down at him. 

And then Tony showed Peter the front of the box he’d grabbed. It was bright blue, and had a picture of Spider-Man’s face above the steam wafting from the cup of cocoa. 

“Oh my _God_ -”

“It’s Morgan’s favorite. The cocoa is literally the same blue as your suit-”

“I _hate_ you-” 

“Pete and I are making hot chocolate!” Tony called over his shoulder. “Anybody interested?”

Morgan’s voice came from the living room, “Spider-Man hot chocolate?” and was immediately followed by Harley’s, “ _Spider-Man_ hot chocolate?” 

“I hate you,” Peter said again, as he poured milk into the four coffee mugs Tony had dumped the packets of dark blue powder into. The dried marshmallow pieces were shaped like tiny spiders. 

Tony grinned at him. “It turns your tongue blue, too.” 

Peter grinned back. 

They finished making the cocoa and brought two of the mugs into the living room. Harley gave Peter a shit-eating grin as he passed him his mug; Peter made sure to laugh extra loudly at him when he pulled Plumpy’s card on his next turn and had to move his piece back to the start. 

Leaving them to finish their game, Tony and Peter stepped outside. They sat next to each other on the porch steps and sipped their cocoas beneath the fading sunset. The cocoa was actually really good, velvety smooth and perfectly chocolatey - Peter would take that thought with him to his grave. 

“So.” Peter licked blue from his lips and glanced over at Tony, who was staring into his mug as he swirled it around. He was pretty sure that was a super _dad_ move. “What - if anything, because if you wanna just sit out here and drink Spider-Man cocoa, that’s cool too-” Peter snorted into his drink; Tony side-eyed him, “- _do_ you wanna tell me? About you and Harley.” They looked at each other properly. “No judgement. Just putting that out there.” 

“You know it’s not a trust thing, right?” Peter asked. “Please tell me you know that.” 

“The thought never crossed my mind,” Tony said, and Peter believed him. “You’re an adult, Pete, and you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I trust you to make good decisions about your own life, just like your aunt does.” He went back to swirling his cocoa. “Decent ones, at least.”

Peter tapped a finger against his mug. He let Tony’s words hang between them for a moment, then asked, “Do you think Harley is a good decision?” 

“I wouldn’t be paying his tuition if I didn’t.” 

“You know what I mean.”

Tony hummed and took a sip of his drink; blue clung to his mustache when he lowered it. Peter wished he had his phone on him to take a picture of how ridiculous he looked, but it was back in the kitchen, on the table next to Harley’s. 

“You and Harley,” Tony continued, before Peter could say anything about the blue on his face, “work together better than I ever expected you would.”

Peter blinked at him. “Really?” 

“It wasn’t like I expected you two to hate each other or anything. Just some good old healthy competition. Using each other to better yourselves, that whole deal. Something more like Rhodey and I had when we first met. But instead, you two jumped straight to the same wavelength, and it’s like you never stopped.” Tony turned back to him. “Do you two even compete about anything? Like who gets the better grade on the exam? Who has the higher GPA? Anything?” 

“I can fit more jumbo-sized marshmallows into my mouth than Harley can,” Peter answered. “He’s tried three times and hasn’t beaten my record yet.” 

“You’re both chaos children and I regret introducing you.” 

Peter grinned, sure his lips were as blue as Tony’s mustache. 

Noise suddenly erupted from the living room; Peter instinctively tuned into it. He heard Morgan cheering and the sound of her feet as she jumped up and down. Pepper was laughing while telling her to stop being a sore winner. And Harley was groaning, the sounds muffled like he had his hands covering his face, acting up his defeat to make Morgan giggle. And when his groaning turned into laughter - warm, rich, and _happy_ \- as Morgan tackled him into one of her emotional support hugs, Peter found himself smiling. 

“You’re doing it again,” Tony said, not unkindly. “You can’t even see him and you’re giving him the puppy look.”

“Hearing him is just as good.” 

Peter stared down into his half-empty mug of hot chocolate, and realized he’d never actually said it out loud. He’d told Ned and MJ that he’d been attracted to Harley for about as long as he’d known him. He’d told May about the forehead kisses and how all the sudden affection between them made his head spin in the best way. But he’d never actually _said it_ , and every sense he had was screaming at him to finally do it. 

As Harley’s laughter faded from his ears, Peter found his resolve. 

“I really like him,” he said softly. “I like him so much I don’t think I even know a word big enough to use.” He squeezed around the mug, feeling the warm ceramic against his palms. “And- And I think he likes me, too.”

“He does.”

“And I don’t know why I haven’t- Wait.” Peter whipped his head back to Tony, who was mustache deep in his cocoa again. “What?” 

Tony raised an eyebrow and lowered his drink. “I said he does. Like you back, that is.” 

Peter spun on the step to fully face Tony, his knees knocking into the man’s thigh. Cocoa sloshed up the sides of his mug and landed in a blue splash on his jeans. 

“He does?” Peter asked incredulously. “How do you know?” 

He’d been pretty positive that Harley had at least some feelings for him - so positive that Peter had already begun to convince himself to finally say something. But Tony had said it himself. He knew Peter, and he knew Harley. And if Tony really thought- _If Tony really knew that Harley liked him back-_

“You’re better at the puppy eyes, but you’re not the only one doing them.” Tony shrugged. “He’s been giving them back to you all day. I may be old, Pete, but I’m not blind yet. He’s as obvious as you are.” 

He drained the last of his drink, sighing when he was finished, all relaxed and casual like he hadn’t just shaken the foundations of Peter’s life as he knew it - and still didn’t know about the cocoa on his face. 

“Oh my God,” Peter breathed. He felt like he had that day, a month ago now, when he’d first caught Harley in the act of sneaking a kiss on his forehead. “Oh my _God_.”

“You know, for a pair of geniuses that I’m trusting my namesake company to someday, you’re both idiots.” 

“It took you eight years to propose to Pepper,” Peter threw back automatically, “and even then you only did it because you needed a breaking story for your Avengers press conference.” 

“Oh, so we’re bringing up old stuff now-” 

“Did you mean it?” Tony looked at him, surprised by the ferocity of Peter’s question. “When you said you wouldn’t care if I dated Harley?”

“What? Of course I meant it.” He wrapped his good arm around Peter’s shoulders and drew him in. Some of Peter’s cocoa splashed onto his jeans too. “I don’t care who you date, Pete. All I care about is that they treat you and your alter-ego right. If you’re telling me Harley does that, then no, I’d never care.” 

Peter thought about the kisses, the nights not spent in his own bed, and the glasses of water Harley had taken to leaving on his nightstand whenever Peter went out on patrol - always with the ice long melted, always warmed to room temperature, but always there. 

“Harley’s got me,” he said softly. “And he’s got Spider-Man.” 

“Then I think you’ve got your answer.” 

Peter grinned again, much wilder this time. Tony smiled back at him, and Peter giggled at the blue still stained above his lip. 

As Tony squeezed his arm around his shoulders, Peter said, “You’ve got cocoa on your face.” 

Tony’s hand immediately went to his mustache. Peter burst into laughter at the horrified look of betrayal that spread through his gaze. 

“You let me sit here and give you that whole speech without telling me-”

“I was gonna! But you started waxing poetic about me and Harley-!”

“When did you become such a _brat_ -” 

Tony gripped his shoulder hard and shook him where he sat. The movement jostled the mug still in Peter’s grasp and spilled more cocoa over both of their laps. Peter laughed some more and threw himself into Tony’s side, knocking the man’s balance off and sending his empty mug toppling to the porch beside his thigh. The cracking sound that erupted from it told Peter it had probably chipped, but miraculously hadn’t broken. It still sobered him though, reducing his laughter to chest-rattling giggles. 

“Okay, okay.” They both turned. Harley was standing at the opened screen door. He was barefoot and had already changed for the night, now in a pair of dark blue sweatpants and an AC/DC t-shirt that hung too loose on his frame to be his own. “Break it up, you two.” 

“That’s my favorite shirt, you heathen,” Tony said. Harley smirked and wrapped his arms around himself in a hug. 

“That’s funny. It’s my favorite one to steal from you.” 

“Heathen,” Tony repeated. “Both of you are. Morgan’s the only one that’s nice to me.” 

“Oh, peachy,” Harley drawled, “because it’s your turn for Candy Land. You called playin’ winner.” 

“Did I? I think that’s something I would remember saying.” 

“Go tell that to her.” Harley jerked his head towards the doorway. 

Tony rolled his eyes, but stood from the step; Peter heard his joints creak from the evening chill. He picked up the mug, now with a chip along the lip of it, and shook it in Peter’s direction. 

“You’re playing the next winner.” 

“Sure. If Morgan doesn’t wipe the floor with you, I’ll be happy to do it in her stead.” 

Tony grumbled some more about _ungrateful brats._ Harley chuckled from his spot by the door. 

Peter tipped his head back and downed whatever was left in his mug - lukewarm and practically flavorless now. He held it out for Tony to take. 

“Thanks for coming out here with me,” Peter said, sincerely, hoping Tony understood what he meant. 

He must have, because he tucked the mug beneath his arm and reached down to ruffle Peter’s hair with his other. 

“Anytime, Underoos,” Tony replied, flashing Peter another quick smile before stepping up onto the porch and heading inside. 

Harley stayed against the door until Tony walked past him and into the house. He stepped away to let it swing shut behind him, then came over to take Tony’s vacated spot beside Peter on the step. 

Peter held out a hand to stop him. “I don’t know how much chipped off the mug,” he explained, motioning Harley to come sit on the other side of him. “Why don’t you have shoes on?”

“Freedom,” Harley said, plopping down on the step. 

Peter knew it had only been an hour, probably less, since Harley had last sat next to him at the dinner table, but it suddenly felt like far too long ago. He shifted so their hips pressed together and tossed his legs over Harley’s. Harley’s arm immediately slipped around his back to hold him in place; his other hand fell on Peter’s knee. 

“Jesus, Pete, did you even drink any of your hot chocolate?” 

Peter glanced down at his jeans, now stained with a splattering of blue all along his thigh.

“I try not to indulge too much in things that have my face on them,” he answered, looking back up. “Which is why I only have one Spider-Man lunchbox.”

“But _Spider-Man hot chocolate_? C’mon, far superior to regular old _borin’_ hot chocolate.”

Peter pointed a finger at Harley’s nose. “If I find any boxes of Spider-Man cocoa in the cabinet back home,” he said slowly, “I’m moving out. Don’t try me, Keener.” 

Harley grinned. The edges of his teeth and the inside of his lips were tinged blue. 

“You’re in luck, Parker.” He drew Peter in closer. “Nothin’ beats the real thing.” 

Harley pressed a kiss to his forehead, and Peter snuggled into his side, and they sat out in the darkening New York night until more yelling from the living room told Peter it was his turn for Candy Land. Morgan remained the undefeated champion, but Peter took his loss with Harley stretched back out beside him, so it didn’t really feel like much of a loss.

“I’m gonna tell you,” Peter whispered, in the middle of the night, squeezed next to Harley in his bed, their knees knocking where they didn’t quite fit together. Harley’s arm was slung across his waist, his breathing slow and steady. Peter’s hands were curled into fists between their chests. “After finals are over. I’m gonna tell you, Harley, so you better not tell me first.”

Harley - blissful, beautiful, _asleep_ \- didn’t reply. 

Tuesday night found Peter lying in bed - his own, for once - finishing up his final essay of the semester. For something he’d started from scratch just a few hours ago, he didn’t think it was all that bad. He still emailed it to MJ though, to see what she thought. 

They had an agreement: she would review his essays with that big literature major brain of hers and in return he would do basically whatever she asked him for. This time, it was ice cream and his company at a poetry slam the English majors were hosting after finals. 

He sent the email off and shut his laptop with a satisfied flourish. Once MJ sent it back to him with her comments, he’d revise it and turn it in tomorrow. Which meant that his biochem final was now the last big thing standing between him and winter break. 

Peter stared down at his backpack, loaded with his textbook and notes. Then he plugged his laptop charger in, grabbed his bag, and headed down the hall. 

He didn’t bother knocking; he just threw Harley’s door open and announced, “Put a song on that’s gonna restore my faith in the world so I can study for biochem.” 

Harley - his back to Peter where he sat at his desk by the window - didn’t start or turn around. The Led Zeppelin song playing through his laptop speaker abruptly changed to _All You Need is Love_ by The Beatles. 

“Fuck yeah,” Peter said, grinning. He tossed his backpack onto Harley’s bed and flopped down beside it. Harley grinned over at him. 

“Essay done?”

“Yup. Now it’s just me and enzyme kinetics all night.” Peter wrestled his notes free from his backpack. “What’re you working on?” 

“Final report for my physics project. You want me to queue anythin’ for you?” 

“Obscure Beatles’ songs that you haven’t shown me yet?”

“You got it, darlin’.” 

Harley clacked away at his keyboard, making sure they had plenty of music to get them through the night before going back to his report. Peter settled himself against Harley’s pillow and cracked his notebook open. 

They stayed like that for hours, huddled beneath the light from Harley’s desk lamp. The yellow hue of it made the highlighter marks on Peter’s notes look discolored. It was an idle thought that made Peter realize he’d read the same line of his own handwriting for a fourth time and still hadn’t retained what it said. 

Rubbing at his eye with a knuckle, Peter set his notebook down on his stomach and glanced over. The clock glowing on the desk told him it was just past one in the morning. Harley was still up, slumped over on an elbow in his desk chair, the blue light from his laptop screen washing out the blue of his eyes. His eyebrows were creased together; Peter couldn’t tell if it was because he was concentrating or because he was tired. 

_He’s still pretty though,_ Peter thought, shifting onto his side so he didn’t have to crane his neck to look at him. His notebook slid off his stomach and onto the mattress. Peter didn’t reach for it. 

He didn’t realize he’d dozed off until he was opening his eyes again. Harley wasn’t sitting at his desk anymore. His laptop screen was dark and the room was quiet. 

Harley hadn’t gone far - he was at the foot of his bed, packing Peter’s bag back up. Peter blinked and realized the press of the notebook spiral at his stomach and the weight of his textbook by his arm were gone. He forced himself up onto an elbow. 

“‘M not done-”

“Yes, you are,” Harley told him gently. “We both know you’re gonna do fine tomorrow, Pete. Go back to sleep.” He zipped Peter’s backpack shut and set it on the floor beside the bed. 

“Just a power nap,” Peter insisted, trying to sit up properly, but Harley was there with a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. 

“No, Peter, actual sleep,” Harley said. “I already set an alarm for you, okay? I got you. Just go to sleep.” 

He carefully pushed Peter back down onto the pillow. Peter considered protesting some more, but it looked like Harley was on his way to bed too, and if he wasn’t studying, Peter figured he might as well enjoy the inevitable cuddling.

“You, too?” he murmured. Harley smiled down at him. 

“Just gotta get outta these jeans, darlin’. Then I’m all yours.” 

The words made Peter shiver. Harley rubbed warmly at his shoulder as he leaned over and kissed his forehead, like Peter knew he would. 

Peter also knew that one - probably two, now - in the morning after two full days of finals and essays was not the prime time for him to be making decisions. But staring up at Harley as he pulled back - at his endlessly kind eyes and far too pretty smile and the constellations of freckles across his nose that Peter made wishes on in the dead of night when he couldn’t sleep - Peter suddenly thought that he absolutely could not wait another minute longer. 

He reached for Harley’s hand. 

“One more?” 

The lamplight sent sharp shadows slanting across Harley’s face, contrasting the sheer softness of his features. Peter thought, _angel_ , as Harley leaned back in and did as he asked. 

When he tried to pull away again, Peter squeezed his hand.

“ _One_ more?”

Harley huffed a laugh. “I just gave you two, Pete.” 

“Please?” 

Harley rolled his eyes, but his smile didn’t falter. 

“ _One more_ , and that’s it. Got it?” 

Peter nodded. His heart was pounding in his chest. 

Harley tugged his hand free and brought it up to Peter’s face. He slid his palm along his jaw and settled it in the same spot he always did, where Peter’s ear was placed in the junction of his thumb and his fingers could card through the curls at the nape of Peter’s neck. He leaned in a third time. 

When Peter tipped his head back, their noses brushed. 

Harley stilled at the contact. This close to him, Peter could see the hint of gray hiding in the overwhelming blue of his eyes. They told him that Harley knew exactly what Peter was doing. 

“Peter,” he breathed, slow, hesitant. 

But Peter was wide-awake now, because Harley hadn’t moved away, and if this didn’t happen _right now_ he was going to _burst_ , he really was. 

“Do it,” he breathed back. “Do it, Harley, _please-_ ”

Harley did. 

The sound that left his throat when their lips connected - somewhere between a shy squeak and a pleased whine - made Peter’s face hot with embarrassment. It didn’t seem to bother Harley; he kissed him, soft and slow and so sweet it made Peter’s toes curl. 

_Angel,_ Peter thought again. He could smell lavender, light and intoxicating. 

Harley pulled back, just enough to breathe, and Peter could hear the shake in it. He licked his lips - lavender, again, and he suddenly remembered the tube of lip balm he’d stuck into Harley’s birthday present earlier that year. _Definitely a good choice._

There was a tremble to Harley’s hand where it still cupped his jaw. Peter reached up and touched his fingertips to his knuckles. Harley was so _loud_ , his heartbeat and his breathing and his pulse slamming inside his wrist. It made Peter’s head spin, every bit of him helpless to do anything but tune into it all and _want_ infinitely more. 

“Harley-”

“I knew-” Harley’s shaky breaths paused as he swallowed hard. “I knew the moment I met you, Peter Parker, that you were gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.” 

Peter reached out and twisted his fingers into the front of Harley’s shirt. 

“Harley Keener-” He didn’t recognize his own voice, had never heard it sound like that before, but it made Harley shudder so he thought he could come to like it, “-believe me, that’s _my_ line.” 

He pulled, and Harley came willingly. 

There was no softness in the second kiss. Or the third. Or the fourth. But each of Harley’s kisses were sweet despite how hard they were pressed to Peter’s lips. Peter drank in each one unapologetically. He tugged more firmly on Harley’s shirt, needing him impossibly closer. The bed dipped by Peter’s hip as Harley pressed a knee down to keep his balance as he leaned further over him. 

They kissed until their lips were slick with spit, until Peter’s mouth tingled with the taste of lavender chapstick, until Harley absolutely had to take a breath. He hung his head over Peter’s, mouth open as he panted. Even in the low light, Peter could see how wet and red his lips were. 

Harley swallowed again, his breath catching somewhere low in his throat. “ _Jesus_ , Peter,” he gasped. “You fuckin’ _tease_. Makin’ me wait _two God damn months_ with all your touchin’ and cuddlin’- Were you _tryin’_ to kill me?” 

He thumbed at the corner of Peter’s mouth; Peter’s eyes fluttered and he let himself float for a moment. 

Then he pushed up onto his elbow and craned his neck to kiss Harley again. Harley dipped low and met him halfway. This one was sloppy, their lips sliding together, not quite connecting. Peter mouthed at Harley’s bottom lip. 

“ _I’m_ the tease?” he murmured. “How about _you_? With all your forehead kisses? And letting me sleep in your bed? _Fuck_ , Harley, I- I-” 

His teeth caught on Harley’s lip. Harley groaned, and Peter’s brain short-circuited. 

He ran his hand down Harley’s chest - Harley shuddered beneath his fingertips and _oh, that was hot_ \- and twisted his fingers into the belt loops of his jeans. 

Peter tugged. He fell back against the pillow as Harley threw his leg over him. His knees settled next to either of Peter’s hips, sitting astride him like he was always meant to be there. 

Harley’s hair hung messy over his eyes, wild and bright. Peter stared up at him, mesmerized. 

“I should’ve told you sooner,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t- I should’ve- _Harley_ -” 

Harley lowered himself, pressing their stomachs and chests flush against each other, effectively cutting off Peter’s babbling. His elbows pressed to the pillow, bracketing Peter’s head. Their noses knocked together. 

“I got you,” Harley murmured. “I got you, darlin’, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” 

His kisses became soft, unhurried presses against Peter’s lips. Peter whined and tilted his head into each one of them. He clutched an arm around Harley’s back, his other hand moving up to knit his fingers into Harley’s hair - cradling him close, unwilling to let him leave. 

“Wanna stay like this,” he whimpered between kisses. “Wanna kiss you all night, Harley.” 

He felt Harley’s laugh on his face and in his chest - he could _definitely_ get used to that. 

“Good,” Harley drawled, his accent thick and absolute music to Peter’s ears, “because I wanna kiss you all night too, Peter.” 

Peter nodded. He closed his eyes. 

“Do it.” 

Harley did. 

Peter didn’t know he’d fallen asleep until he was waking up. He blinked slowly at the ceiling, time and his limbs feeling heavy and sluggish. His body was stiff like he hadn’t moved from lying flat on his back all night. As his senses came to, he figured that was probably because he hadn’t. 

Harley was fast asleep on top of him. He was stretched out all along Peter’s left side: head resting on his collarbone, one leg hitched over his waist, an arm flung over his chest and the other resting on the pillow above their heads. The wild curls of his hair tickled under Peter’s chin. His breathing was deep and even, his heartbeat was strong and steady - so much quieter than it had been last night. 

_Last night._

Peter sighed at the thought, careful not to jostle Harley. He had no idea what time either of them had finally gone to sleep; he just knew that Harley really had kissed him right up until they had. He vaguely remembered kisses being placed all over his face - his cheeks, his nose, his forehead as always - when he got too sleepy to keep kissing Harley back. Apparently, Harley had just laid down exactly where he was and fallen asleep himself. 

Not that Peter minded any. Harley was the same solid warmth he’d always been for Peter, making his insides feel gooey with happiness. He could stay beneath Harley for the rest of time and be perfectly content. 

_If only,_ Peter thought. He smiled to himself, wide and bright. 

_Dork,_ he could imagine Harley saying. Peter turned his head to brush a kiss against his hair. 

The desk lamp was still on, having been ignored the night before. It mixed oddly with the sunlight streaming in through the window as they both bounced off the pale blue walls of Harley’s bedroom. Peter looked over at the clock on the desk. It was a few minutes past eleven. 

He blinked. 

Eleven. 

_His final was at eleven-thirty._

Peter shot up into a sitting position. Harley’s head bounced awkwardly against his chest, the other groaning in annoyance. He curled himself tighter around Peter, practically hanging off of him as Peter groped around Harley’s desk for his phone. 

He snatched it up and punched in Harley’s passcode - Abby’s birthday, Peter had known it for what felt like forever by now. The screen opened up to the clock app, and there was the alarm Harley had set last night, the bar next to the time still green to show it had never been shut off and had rang itself out instead. 

Shit. 

They’d slept right through it. 

_Shit._

Peter hadn’t even heard it.

“ _Shit_!”

His final was in less than thirty minutes. 

Peter flailed, shoving Harley off of him. He heard him roll into the wall, heard the slurred, “What the _fuck_ -” and then Peter was vaulting off the bed and running out of the room. 

He was like a tornado as he tore through the apartment, scrambling to get some semblance of ready as quickly as he could. He pulled on a clean shirt, brushed his teeth, ran his fingers through his hair. He shoved his shoes on without tying them. He mentally apologized to May and Tony for skipping breakfast as he shrugged a hoodie on and reached down for his backpack. 

It wasn’t there. It was still sitting at the foot of Harley’s bed. 

Peter burst out of his room, rounding the corner to sprint the few feet to Harley’s. He stopped short when he saw Harley already standing in the hallway with Peter’s backpack dangling from his hand. 

Their gazes met. Harley had a grumpy look on his face, his hair and his clothes rumpled from sleep. He had never changed out of his jeans last night. Peter knew he probably looked just as rough, wearing the same sweatpants from yesterday and - now that he thought about it-

“Your shirt’s on backwards.” 

“ _Fuck_.” 

Peter did a weird turning-his-shirt-around-without-fully-taking-off-his-hoodie maneuver that Tony would have been proud of, but Harley didn’t seem as amused by. When he was all fixed up, he held his hand out for his backpack. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled as Harley passed it over. “I didn’t mean-”

“Go take your final,” Harley interrupted. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Peter shuffled his feet. “Um. Go back to bed?” 

“Way ahead of you.” Harley flashed him a peace sign, turned, and disappeared back into his room. 

Peter stood in the empty hallway for a moment longer before shrugging his backpack onto his shoulders and booking it from the apartment. There was a weird feeling swirling in his chest alongside the panic of being late.

_He didn’t kiss me goodbye._

Peter made it to his final by the skin of his teeth. 

Two hours later, Peter turned in his biochemistry final and couldn’t get out of the lecture hall fast enough. He pulled his phone out of his pocket as soon as he was in the hallway. As he expected, his group chat with Ned and MJ lit up on his lock screen. Ned, who also had his last final today, had sent him a reminder in all caps and with several exclamation marks that they were done with the semester. Below his text was MJ’s, letting him know she’d emailed his paper back to him and the time and place for the poetry slam. 

Peter swiped the chat open, beginning to type a reply, glancing up as he approached the doors to make sure he wouldn’t run into anybody. Beyond the glass, sitting on a bench in the outdoor commons area across from the science building, was Harley. 

The door groaned when Peter pushed it open. Harley looked over at the sound, immediately getting to his feet when he saw it was Peter. He had on his burgundy Stark Industries hoodie, a fresh pair of blue jeans that were ripped at the knees, and his hair was styled away from his face. In each of his hands was a large Starbucks coffee cup. As Peter approached him, he held one of them out. 

“Caramel macchiato,” he said, as Peter took it from him. “And I told them to throw in whatever makes pumpkin spice lattes taste good.” 

“God, you’re the best,” Peter said. “That final was exhausting. And three pages too long, if you ask me.” Harley chuckled, and Peter took a sip of his drink. His eyes widened. “Whoa. Okay, I’m not gonna lie, I wasn’t exactly sold on your flavor combination, but this is _amazing.”_

“Yeah, well, you and Abby have the same shitty taste in coffee.” Peter shot him a playful glare over his cup. Harley smiled. “It’s an apology coffee. For bein’ kind of a dick this mornin’. I’m sorry.” 

Peter smiled back. “ _I’m_ sorry, for kind of throwing you into the wall when I woke up.” 

“Okay, cool. Thanks for sayin’ that, because I literally spent the entire mornin’ wonderin’ if that actually happened or if I’d just dreamt it and I was a dick for nothin’.”

They both laughed. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter repeated. “I saw the time and just went full-panic mode. I don’t know how I slept through the alarm.”

_Peter knew exactly how. Because when he was with Harley, Harley was the only thing that mattered. He’d been happy, and felt safe, and so his senses had taken the backseat because how could he possibly be in danger if he was with Harley? Like they had known how Peter felt all along, before Peter had even realized it himself._

“Let’s call it even,” Harley said. “No harm done, right? I don’t have brain damage and you made it to your final. And we both got coffee out of it.” 

Peter giggled. “How about you throw in a hug, and then we can call it even?”

“You drive a hard bargain, Parker. But-” Harley grinned and held out the arm not holding his coffee, “-I think that can be arranged.” 

Peter walked into his chest, tucking his head beneath his chin. Mindful of his own coffee, he slipped his free arm around Harley’s middle, securing himself in his spot. He felt Harley’s hand come to rest at the back of his neck, his fingers curling up into Peter’s hair. 

“Congrats, darlin’,” Harley murmured down to him. “You did it. You’re all done.” 

Peter hummed, pleased and greedily breathing in Harley’s familiar green apple body wash. Harley’s hoodie was as comfortable to rest his head on now as it had been the day he’d borrowed it as a pillow what felt like a lifetime ago - although, Peter had to admit it was better with Harley wearing it. 

“We should talk,” Peter said into Harley’s shoulder, “about last night.” He tilted his head and pressed a kiss against Harley’s covered collarbone. “If that’s okay with you?” 

Harley responded by planting a kiss to the top of Peter’s head. “‘Course it’s okay with me,” he said. “You wanna walk, or you wanna sit?”

“Can we walk, please? My ass is still sore from those awful seats.”

Peter’s whole body shook with the force of Harley’s laughter. 

“Sure, Pete, we can walk.” 

Peter gave him a quick squeeze around his middle before pulling back. Harley’s hand slipped away from his neck; he held it out in front of Peter, wiggling his fingers invitingly. It made Peter giggle again as he reached out to take it. Their fingers threaded together like liquid, easily and naturally, and then they were walking, no destination in mind, just together. 

The days were starting to get cooler from the fast-approaching winter. The wind nipped at Peter’s nose as it blew through the campus. But his coffee heated his lips and his cheeks as he sipped it, and Harley was as warm as always where their arms pressed together as they walked. 

“I was going to tell you after we were both done,” Peter said. “When all our finals and research projects were out of the way, and it could just be about us, you know?” 

“What changed your mind?”

“I don’t really know,” Peter admitted. “It was just- When I woke up, and I saw you-” 

He casted a glance over at Harley. The sunlight caught the gold in his hair and brought out the blue in his eyes. It reminded him of last night, of opening his eyes and seeing Harley and something inside him clicking into place. 

“-I didn’t want to wait anymore,” he finished softly. Harley smiled at him, giving his hand a squeeze. “But I also didn’t mean to spring it on you like that. So, I guess I wanna make sure that was okay.” 

“More than okay,” Harley assured. “Besides, that whole ‘one more’ act you pulled? I ain’t strong enough for that. If you hadn’t done anythin’, I probably would’ve.”

He took another drink of his coffee. Black, probably, with oat milk, and maybe a shot of espresso to help fix him up from his grumpy morning. Like Peter did with Abby, Harley had the same taste in coffee as Tony - disgusting, in Peter’s opinion. 

“You said I made you wait,” Peter murmured. “Two months? That was when you started with the forehead kisses.” 

“You know, I admit I was goin’ for subtle, but-” Harley licked foam from his lips, “-really ended up givin’ myself a run for my money.” 

“I knew it.” Peter smiled into his own cup. “Was that story about your mom and Abby even true, or did you pull that out of your ass when I called you out on it?”

Harley laughed again. “Easy, darlin’, you know I ain’t a liar. In fact, Mama’s gonna flip when she finds out that’s how it happened.” His laughter trailed off as he shook his head. “I can hear her now. Her son, Harley James, darin’ to corrupt the good Keener name. Where _ever_ did she go wrong with me?” 

“God, you’re so dramatic.” He nudged his shoulder against Harley’s arm, sending him off balance and stumbling on his next step. Harley glared playfully and nudged him back; Peter’s spidey sense kept him walking forward. 

They turned down another sidewalk, shoulders jostling, coffees sloshing around in their cups. Distantly, Peter could hear the splashing of the library fountain, not yet turned off for the season.

“Would you believe me,” Harley said suddenly, “if I told you that really was why it started?”

“I _do_ know you’re not a liar,” Peter answered. Harley shot him a grateful, lopsided smile. “Explain, though?” 

“The first night I kissed you, when you fell asleep on me durin’ the movie. It really did remind me of tuckin’ Abby into bed when she was a kid. That’s why I did it in the first place.” 

Harley’s steps began to slow, Peter matching him, until they stood still on the sidewalk. His thumb brushed over Peter’s knuckles. He had the same look on his face as he had that day in their kitchen - whatever he was about to say, he wanted to make sure Peter was listening. 

“You were _adorable_ ,” Harley said, so soft and sincere it made Peter’s heart do a funny thing in his chest, “all snuggled up on me like that. And you kept bein’ adorable, like you have been since I first met you, and I knew if it wasn’t that, it’d be somethin’ else. So I figured I might as well just shoot my shot.” 

Peter blushed the moment Harley started talking, and his face only grew warmer with each word. “Harley-”

“I knew you were gonna catch on to me,” Harley continued. “With your spidey senses and that big brain of yours, I knew you would. I was in it for the long run, darlin’, ‘cause I knew it’d be worth the wait. And I was right. _God_ , I was right.”

Harley let go of Peter’s hand - stunned still like the rest of him - and reached up to cup his jaw. He rubbed his thumb over Peter’s red cheek. All Peter could do was stare back up at him. 

“I’m so fuckin’ _stupid_ for you, Peter. I would’ve waited all year if I had to.” 

“I-” Peter’s voice croaked out of his throat. He licked his lips, swallowed, and tried again. “I like you so much, Harley. You make me so happy I don’t know what to do with it all.” 

Harley’s smile was like sunlight. 

“And you’re pretty,” Peter blurted, just because he was thinking it. “You’re so fucking pretty, Harls, you know that?”

Harley’s laugh was even better. He dipped his head and pressed their noses together. 

“I could get used to you remindin’ me.” 

Peter had been right about his coffee. Somehow, the bitterness of it didn’t bother him when it came from Harley. He gripped at Harley’s arm as they kissed, the other’s nose a spot of cold against his cheek that made Peter shiver and press closer. 

When Harley pulled back, Peter rose up onto his toes to follow him as far as he could. He was rewarded with a breathless chuckle and another chaste kiss that made Peter glow with happiness. A pretty perfect way to end the semester - with the same incredible boy he’d started it with, at that. 

“Let’s go home,” he murmured, still on tip-toe to stay as close to Harley as possible. “We can order pizza and cuddle on the couch until you have to go study.” 

Harley hummed, low and content. “Sounds good to me.” 

His hand left Peter’s cheek to wrap his arm around his neck, mindful of his backpack. He pulled Peter in again, but this time, his lips landed squarely on Peter’s forehead. Peter wrapped his own arm around Harley’s back, making sure he couldn’t go too far. 

They started walking again, arms around each other, sides pressed together; tepid coffees and mismatched steps and warmth soaking through their hoodies. It felt like a new beginning. 

And the next day, as Harley walked out of his last final of the semester, Peter was waiting for him, two Starbucks cups in hand. 

“Congrats, babe,” he said, walking forward to meet him halfway. “Welcome to the ‘officially done’ club.” 

Harley didn’t reply or take the coffee Peter offered to him. He just reached out, grabbed Peter by his hips, and pulled him in for a kiss. Hot coffee spilled over the cups’ lids and onto Peter’s hands. He was laughing too much into Harley’s mouth to even notice. 

Peter was glad Harley had a just-as-perfect end to his semester as he had. 

They picked MJ up on the sidewalk outside her apartment. Peter stepped out and pushed the passenger seat down so she could climb into the back. Ned was already there, taking her bag to hold as she got situated. 

“Not that I mind, because you know I love this car-” She directed the comment to Harley through the rearview mirror, and he smirked back at her in thanks, “-but why exactly are we chauffeuring tonight?”

“Because Harley’s flying back to Tennessee for break,” Peter explained, closing the door once he was settled back in his seat. “He’s leaving his car with Tony while he’s gone and he’s having separation anxiety.” 

“I’m not ashamed,” Harley chimed, merging back into the New York traffic. “Plus, I got shoppin’ I still gotta do before I go. Figured drivin’ would just be easier, so you get a free chauffeur tonight.” 

“Sweet,” MJ said. “You’re wingmanning again, then?” Peter peeked up at the rearview, seeing her facing Ned now. Ned beamed and proudly nodded his head. 

“And I’m taking the chance to shop for you and Peter while you guys are off doing your poetry thing. Harley and I are in this together.” 

Harley reached a hand over his shoulder and made a fist. Ned bumped their knuckles together. Watching them made Peter unbelievably giddy. 

“Ned’s the best wingman,” he said. “I’m expecting him back, Keener.” 

“You literally get him the entire time I’m gone. Take it easy, darlin’.” 

“Don’t worry,” MJ spoke up. “I’ll just sit back here.”

Peter laughed and turned in his seat to look at her properly. “By the way,” he said, “we got an A on the essay.” 

“Of course we did,” she replied, but accepted the fist bump he held out to her. 

They chatted back and forth as Harley drove them through the city, joking and laughing, discussing plans to celebrate the end of the semester as a whole group sometime before Harley left. At one point, Peter looked at Harley and saw him bathed in bright red from the traffic light they were stopped at. It made his eyes look dark as he dropped his gaze from the rearview to glance over at Peter; his face broke into a smile when he saw Peter already watching him. 

Peter smiled back. He reached down and took his boyfriend’s hand from the gear shift, bringing it to his mouth to press a kiss to the back of it. From the backseat came Ned’s _aww_ and MJ’s _gross_ , but Peter only cared about the twinkle of recognition in Harley’s eyes. 

The red light slanting across Harley’s face flickered to green. He pulled his gaze from Peter’s as the car started to move again.

“If you distract me into wreckin’ my car, I’m breakin’ up with you,” Harley warned, nothing but fond teasing behind his tone. Peter grinned at him. 

“Take it easy, babe,” Peter teased back. “Tony can just buy you another one.” 

“I hate how much you just sounded like him. Stop that.” 

Which of course started the argument about which of them was really more like Tony Stark, with Ned and MJ playing the part of the peanut gallery behind them. The entire time, Harley’s hand stayed in Peter’s lap, clasped firmly in both of his. 

They pulled up to the bookstore that was hosting the poetry slam. MJ and Ned quietly discussed something they were looking at on Ned’s phone, politely ignoring the couple in the front seat like the wonderful best friends they were.

Peter turned back to Harley as he undid his seatbelt. “MJ wasn’t sure how long this was going to be,” he said. “I’ll text you when we’re ready?”

“No rush. Have fun, yeah? I’ll see you later.” 

Peter smiled, leaning in for his goodbye kiss. Harley met him in the middle. 

“See you later.”

Peter helped MJ out of the car, then Ned as he went to join Harley up front. They waved them off from the sidewalk as Harley pulled away. Ned’s face was a shadow in the window as he waved back. 

“Kinda sucks,” MJ said, as Peter held the door open for her. “That you guys just got together and he’s already leaving.” 

Peter chanced a peek over his shoulder, but Harley’s car was already lost in the chaos of the street. He sighed softly and followed her inside.

“Not for a few more days,” he said, sticking close to her as the dull roar of voices sent a tingle up the back of his neck. MJ understood, like she always did, and looped her arm through his. “And he’s only gonna be gone for two weeks.” 

“Still kinda sucks,” she offered.

“Yeah,” Peter admitted. “It kinda does.” 

He gave himself a moment - just a moment - to feel a little sad about it. In Peter’s very biased opinion, New York always seemed a little less bright when Harley Keener wasn’t in it. It wasn’t the first time Harley had gone back to Tennessee since they’d known each other, not even since they’d moved in together. But it was the first time Peter would be saying goodbye to his boyfriend and not just his best friend, and he knew it would feel different, as much as he didn’t want it to. 

_Not yet,_ Peter reminded himself. _He’s here for a few more days. We just have to make the most of them._

He shook the thoughts away, turning back to MJ with a genuine smile on his face. “But he’s off galavanting through New York with Ned-”

“Nice Scrabble word, I’m impressed.”

“-and I’m here with you, super pumped to hear some kickass poetry.” 

MJ patted his arm with her free hand. 

“Come on, social butterfly, I’ll introduce you to the others.” 

A while later, Peter found himself sitting in a beanbag chair with some of MJ’s English Lit friends as MJ disappeared with the rest of the performers. As the microphone and the speakers crackled to life, Peter pulled his phone out of his pocket - to silence it, and to have it at the ready to record MJ’s piece for Ned and Harley. 

His gaze caught on his lockscreen. He’d had the same one set for over a year now: a picture of him and Harley, Morgan between them, sitting on the porch steps at the lake house. Next to Peter and Morgan’s brown hair and dark eyes, Harley was clearly the odd one out. But his toothy smile and the way Morgan clutched one of his hands in hers told a completely different story. 

Peter smiled. _Weird how much can change in just a year._

The first performer stepped up to the makeshift stage. Peter set his phone on his thigh and settled in to listen. 

And he didn’t miss Harley, because Harley wasn’t gone yet, so Peter had no reason to miss him. 

He did, however, drag Harley in for a kiss the second he was back in the passenger seat of his car. Just because he could. 

Peter was almost asleep when it happened. 

He was in Harley’s bed, like he had been every night since the semester ended. Harley was flying back to Tennessee tomorrow morning, which meant Peter had to soak up everything he could now to get himself through two weeks of an empty apartment. He was curled up on his side with his cheek squished against the pillow. Harley was warm along his back, his face tucked against Peter’s neck, one of his arms draped over his waist and the other stretched out beneath the pillow. His hand rested on the mattress, just within Peter’s line of sight, and his fingers curled loosely around Peter’s hand where it rested in his palm. 

Peter didn’t want to fall asleep just yet, because it would mean his last night with Harley would be over. But he was so warm and comfortable, his senses buzzing with a quiet feeling of _safe_ , that he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. He let them fall shut, and curled himself up tighter to pull Harley that little bit closer to him.

Behind him, Harley shifted with the movement. He exhaled a soft breath against Peter’s neck. 

“Come to Tennessee with me.” 

A lazy smile twitched at the corner of Peter’s mouth. 

“Very funny.” 

“I’m serious. Come with me.” 

Peter opened his eyes. It didn’t sound like a sleep-induced truth or an accidental slip of his tongue, and Peter had never known Harley to say something he didn’t mean. Wherever this was coming from, Harley was awake, and he meant this. 

He rolled onto his back. Harley moved with him, pulling his arm from beneath the pillow to prop himself up on his elbow. Even with the glare of the streetlights from outside the window, the room was dim. Peter had to tap into his senses to see Harley’s face clearly - his features were set into something sure and made the dimple in his cheek pop. 

“Harley-”

“Mama and Abby would love to see you again,” Harley said. “You haven’t seen them in person since we moved in. They ask me about you all the time.” 

“Harls,” Peter insisted. “It’s been, like, a week. Don’t you think bringing me home with you would be weird?” 

“Peter, we did this whole relationship thing ass-fuckin’-backwards. We’ve already been livin’ together for almost a year and we could probably write each other’s biographies by now. The _last_ weird thing I could do at this point is bring you home with me.” 

Harley’s hand found Peter’s beneath the blanket, twisting their fingers together on top of his stomach. He squeezed, like he was making sure he really had Peter’s attention. 

Peter stared up at him, lips parted around words he couldn’t find his voice for. He couldn’t look away from Harley’s intense gaze even if he wanted to. 

“We don’t have to wait anymore,” Harley said. “We’re _here_ , Pete. The only thing ever stoppin’ us was ourselves, and we’ve gotta learn at some point, right?” He smiled, a hopeful little twist of his lips. “We had some pretty shit timin’, darlin’, and I’m not ready to let you go just yet.” 

Peter pulled their joined hands out from under the blanket and brought them up to his face. Harley’s knuckles were warm against his cheek as he pressed a fast kiss against his wrist. 

“I’m not either,” he admitted softly. “I knew it was gonna feel different this time. I wasn’t ready to miss you.” 

Harley nudged his cheek, turning Peter’s face more towards him so he could lean down and slot their lips together - a slow, gentle, heart-skipping reminder of _don’t miss me yet._

“I can call Tony in the mornin’,” Harley murmured, only taking his lips from Peter’s enough to speak before pausing his words to dip back in. “We’ll get it all taken care of. You can leave early enough to still spend some time with May. And it’ll just be a few days apart instead of two weeks.” 

Harley kissed him like he needed convincing. He tasted like the honesty and surety that Peter had always admired in him. 

“Say yes, Peter,” he whispered, a secret he breathed into Peter’s mouth. “Say yes.” 

Peter had known the second after Harley’s first _come with me_ what his answer was inevitably going to be. Despite his persuasive affections, something in Peter’s gut made him sure Harley had known it, too. 

“Okay,” Peter whispered back. “Okay. Yes. I’ll go with you. Let’s do it.” 

Harley’s grin broke the seal of their lips. He laughed, breathless and beautiful, and surged upward to plant a firm kiss on Peter’s forehead. 

“Let’s do it,” he echoed, and pressed another kiss in the same spot. 

It flooded Peter with a rush of warmth that brought his drowsiness back full-force. _Pavlov,_ he thought vaguely, as he wiggled where he lay half-beneath his boyfriend. 

“You know,” he started as Harley pulled back to look at him, a hint of a sleepy slur behind his words, “I was really comfortable a few minutes ago and then you went and ruined it. You better fix that or I’m changing my answer.” 

“Drama queen,” Harley chimed, but still settled back to the bed at Peter’s side. Peter rolled into him, stretching his arm to wrap around Harley’s middle and snuggling his face into his chest. 

Their new position meant Harley could loop his arm around Peter’s shoulders and brush his fingers through the curls behind his ear. His other palm rubbed warmly along Peter’s arm, and Peter melted against him. 

A thought came to Peter’s mind, fluttering through his head like the shadows of streetlights against buildings as cars whizzed by, like the New York skyline in the distance bopping in and out of sight as he swung through the city. It smelled like green apple body wash and felt like a steady heartbeat against his cheek. 

_I could fall in love with this boy._

It was a nice thought. It made Peter smile as he closed his eyes. 

“Babe?” he mumbled. “Don’t let me sleep through the alarm this time, okay?” 

Above him, Harley huffed another tiny laugh, and it sounded like sunshine. 

“Don’t worry, darlin’.” Harley held him close, all strong arms and warm chest and smooth voice that quieted each of his senses back down to a content buzzing. He feathered one final kiss to Peter’s hair. “I’ve got you.” 

Peter fell asleep.


End file.
